My Skin
by MeowChan16
Summary: AU. Alfred finds Matthew, a runaway from a human trafficking ring, and gives him a chance to live a new life. Mostly AmericaxCanada with Hungary/Prussia/Austria Love Triangle and eventual PolandxLithuania and FrUk.
1. Chapter 1

**(A/N: -Edit: Miyaka Minamoto pointed out that I wrote "Albert" at one point instead of Alfred, so this is an edit to fix that error-**

"**I wanna scream 'I love you' from the top of my lungs, but I'm afraid that someone else will hear me." I was inspired by this line from the song "The (Shipped) Gold Standard" by Fall Out Boy. As ideas evolved in my mind, I realized this story relates better to the song "My Skin" by Natalie Merchant, and so I have named it. I hope you all enjoy this, so let the tale begin.)**

**My Skin**

**CHAPTER I**

Three voices sang along loudly to the radio blasting "Livin' On A Prayer" as the convertible rounded the corner. Once the chorus came on, their vocals became terribly off-key; it was impossible to belt many of the lines without sounding tone-deaf.

"Will you all stop that atrocious howling?" Roderich pleaded, rubbing at the minor headache that was forming. God knew he hated rock music, or any other genre for that matter, except for classical. "You're going to shatter my glasses."

"That's why you get them built to withstand it, like I did with mine!" Alfred joked as he high-fived Gilbert, the two friends nearly in hysterics.

"_Road_, Gilbert!" Elizaveta shrieked from the backseat as the driver nearly rode the curb, pulling away just in time.

"Relax, babe," he replied in a smooth voice, his red eyes focused on the pavement. "I'm too awesome to crash my car."

"I'm not your 'babe'", she retorted with a pout and folded arms.

"Gilbert, put the roof up. Elizaveta's hair is whipping my face."

"No way, Rod! It's still August, and we're going to keep the top down for as long as we can!" He removed a hand from the steering wheel and twirled his arm like a siren, whooping all the while.

"ROAD!"

"God!" Gilbert skillfully maneuvered the car away from the curb it nearly hit. "Don't just scream all of the sudden, Eliz! You want us to crash?!"

"You want me to sock you one?!" Roderich had to restrain her from lunging at the driver, for if she succeeded, they _would_ crash.

"Chill, Eliz," Alfred tried to reason as the car pulled into the parking lot for the makeshift football field. "You'll have plenty of time to kick his ass during the game."

"I wouldn't have it any other way," Gilbert stated playfully as he parked the convertible in a space adjacent to the field. Roderich swiped the strands of Elizaveta's hair out of his mouth once the car had come to a full stop.

"Elizaveta, you really should cut your hair."

She flipped her light brown locks over her shoulder as they all exited, answering, "No way! It's almost to my waist, and I love having it fly everywhere during sports."

"Rod's just jealous," Alfred teased. "He's dying to grow out that drab black hair."

"It's all a part of his master plan to become a mermaid!" Gilbert cackled.

"Eliz better lock her doors! Rod the mermaid's gonna steal her hair!"

"Oh, like you boys haven't been after these tresses for _years_."

"You know it, babe."

"I'm not-"

"Hey!" Alfred yelled, grabbing the football from the trunk and thrusting it over his head. "Are we gonna throw this pig or not?"

"Throw the pig, throw the pig!" Gilbert chanted as he raced his friend onto the field. "Al and I are a team!"

"I guess that leaves us, Roderich." She motioned for him to follow her onto the grass.

"No thanks," he declined, discomfort evident in his voice. "I'd rather not get covered in mud."

"That's the whole fun of the game!" Alfred called over to him as he and Gilbert threw the ball back and forth. "Why do you think we came out here after that monsoon yesterday? And why do you think Gil brought towels so we don't mess up his upholstery?"

"Get you prim and proper ass over here!" Gilbert demanded.

"Come on!" Elizaveta dragged the Austrian along with her, whether he wanted to play or not.

"All right, let's set up," the albino declared before passing the ball off to Alfred to start the game. All got into their positions, preparing for the deployment.

"Hike!"

The ball was in play once Alfred chucked it through his legs to Gilbert. He then ran down the field as his teammate prepared to toss it back. He managed to do so before being tackled by Elizaveta. Alfred ran, and with the girl down and Roderich unwilling to pursue him, he scored a touchdown.

"Score!" Gilbert shouted as he slipped out from under his female friend, meeting his teammate with a chest bump.

"Rod, you have to actually _try_," Elizaveta chastised, wiping the mud on her jeans. The only one still clean, minus his shoes, was Roderich. "If you're not going to help me, then sit out."

"Gladly," he answered as he moved to stand on the sidelines.

"Wimp!" Alfred and Gilbert taunted.

"Whatever, I can take you two down on my own."

"Bring it babe."

Elizaveta responded by punting the football through the goalpost all the way down the field, the pigskin bouncing into the alleyway opposite the lot. "Goal!"

"Damn," Alfred cursed, "that got distance."

"Oh come on, Eliz. That doesn't-"

She shut Gilbert up with a harsh tug on his grimy jeans that brought them down around his ankles. "Oh, that does it!" he shouted as he chased her after scrambling to get his pants back up. Alfred chuckled at the playful shrieks sounding in the commonplace scene before him. He then remembered that the game ball had bounded to the other side of the street.

"Hey, Rod!" he called out, realizing the other two were having too much fun to listen to him. "I'm gonna go get the football, okay?"

Roderich nodded in response, soon returning his gaze to Elizaveta and Gilbert's frivolity, envy clear in his dark brown eyes. _Rod_, Alfred thought, applying what Elizaveta had said to the situation, _she's right; you've got to actually try in order to win._

After looking both ways, even though it wasn't necessary since it wasn't a busy street in these slums, he crossed over into the alley. The elliptical ball stuck out from behind the graffiti-covered dumpster against the left brick wall. He smiled as he bent down and picked it up, cooing, "There you are, baby. What are you doing all the way over here?"

It was then that the pale feet in red stilettos caught his attention. They were sticking out from the ratty, gray blanket behind the dumpster, a subtle form resting on its side underneath.

His sky-blue eyes in awe, Alfred cautiously leaned over and lifted up the tattered cloth from the other end. Slowly, he revealed the figure lying beneath, stopping just above where the neck met the shoulders. Wavy locks that looked once golden, a color like his own, were now dirtied and matted. Her hair was longer than his, but only rounded the length of her chin, framing the jaw line.

She was delicate and beautiful, like a porcelain doll; her eyes closed peacefully and smeared with dark makeup. The childlike lips looked painted red, and she breathed in hitches through the small gap between.

Carefully, he reached out his hand to stroke her flushed cheek, afraid she would crumble under his touch in her frailty. The moment his fingers made contact, he fiercely pulled back, surprised by the fervent surface.

"Hey Al!" he heard Gilbert yell. "What's taking so long?"

"G-Guys!" he stuttered, enthralled but frightened by his find. "You've got to see this!"

Three sets of feet scuttled across the asphalt and ran into the alleyway. "Al, what's the deal?" Gilbert asked, his eyes widening once he noticed the person that lay in the corner. "Whoa."

"Oh my god," Elizaveta gasped, putting her hands to her face. "Is she alive?"

"Yeah," Alfred affirmed it, kneeling by the figure's right side. "She's definitely breathing, but I think she's sick. Her skin is hot to the touch."

"What should we do?" Roderich inquired, unsettled by the discovery.

"My guess is that we find out her identity first," Gilbert suggested, pulling at the cloth from her left. "Maybe she's carrying her driver's license or at least a school ID… Oh, Jesus."

The albino had swept the blanket away, and the sight before them was shocking. The girl was scantily-clad in black leather shorts and a taut, deep-scoop neckline camisole, with sparkling red sequins catching the fading daylight. The bright red stilettos clicked suddenly with the rest of the image in Alfred's mind.

"A… prostitute?" It was a question for no one but the open air as he stared closer at her face. If he were to remove all of the cosmetics, she would look pure, a true gem. How could she be a prostitute?

"No way!" Gilbert shouted, as stunned as any of them. "She's a real-life whore!" This last comment was all Roderich could take as he stepped to the other side of the dumpster, appalled.

"I don't think we're going to any ID on her in _these_ clothes," Elizaveta stated the obvious, leaning closer to the body.

After studying the figure, Gilbert frowned, confused. "That's weird."

"What?" Alfred asked, eyeing the dog collar and tag around the tramp's neck. Something was written on it.

"If this girl's a whore, shouldn't she be more… curvaceous? She looks like one of those 'lolis' in that Japanese kid's comic books."

"She can't be _that_ young," the Hungarian girl argued. "Just because she's flat doesn't mean she's a child. She looks at least fourteen."

"Hey guys," Alfred addressed them as he fondled the silver dog tag, "I think there's a name on this." He lifted the tag slightly to get a better look, squinting to read the engraving. "It says 'Matthew'. …Oh, god."

"A _male_ prostitute?!" Elizaveta shrieked.

"Oh, that's _sick_," Gilbert moaned, backing into the dumpster in his alarm. Roderich looked just about ready to vomit.

Alfred's eyes saddened with pity as he placed the blanket back over the boy's body. "You guys, the point is that he's ill. He needs medical attention."

"Are you crazy?" Gilbert shook his head before continuing, "Do you have any idea how suspicious we would look if we brought a whore into the hospital, or to a doctor much less?"

"Well, fine. Help me pick him up and we'll take him back to my house."

"Alfred, you can't be serious!" Roderich cried, his animosity obvious in his tone of voice. He placed a hand over his throbbing forehead and closed his eyes. "Look, let's just forget we ever saw this and go home."

"What the hell, Roderich?!" Elizaveta roared, her green eyes blazing. "You seemed all for helping him a few minutes ago!"

"Yeah, Rod!" Gilbert agreed, looking for any chance to fight on Elizaveta's side. "What's your problem?"

"B-But he's a prostitute!"

"And that makes it okay to turn a blind eye?!" The Hungarian was fuming; Roderich hadn't seen her this furious in a long time.

"Rod," Alfred addressed him in a low, flat tone, one that his friends rarely heard, "what kind of people would we be if we let this guy suffer just because he's a tramp? If he was anyone else, would you help him? I don't know about you guys, but I can't abandon someone in need of a hero. And by God, this guy needs a hero."

Roderich sighed and accepted fate, no matter how much he disagreed with Alfred's overzealous sense of justice. "Fine, but I don't want to touch him. Pass me the football instead."

Alfred nodded, throwing the pigskin to his friend. "Elizaveta, help me carry, um, Matthew." He glanced at the collar again to make sure that was the right name. "I'm afraid I'll hurt him."

"He's not made of glass, Al," she responded, but complied and assisted in lifting the boy encased in the gray blanket. They made their way across the road back to the parking lot and placed him in the middle backseat. Once everyone with mud on them toweled the muck off and threw the rags into the plastic bag in the trunk, along with the football, they piled into the car. Alfred and Elizaveta sat in the back with Matthew in between, and Roderich sat in the passenger seat as Gilbert put the car in drive. This was the best arrangement at the moment since Rod didn't want to be near a whore, and Eliz was too pissed off at him to sit next to him.

"So, Al," Gilbert began once they were back on the open road towards the suburbs, "how are you going to explain this one to ol' Artie?"

"Dad doesn't come home until eight," his blonde friend informed him. "That gives us time to get Matthew here out of his tramp clothes and into normal ones. It'll make it a lot easier to convince him."

"So we're lying to him?"

"Of course! He'd freak if he knew the truth. We'll say something like he ran away from his abusive father and caught a fever living off the streets. If the kid starts spouting stuff about prostitution, we'll tell my dad that he was traumatized so much that he has delusions."

"What do you plan to do with him?" Elizaveta asked, referring to the boy whose dirtied hair she was stroking. Her expression was one of heartrending compassion.

Alfred thought a bit before answering, "First, we get him better. Then we'll go from there."


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER II**

"Would you open the door already?!" Alfred implored, his voice straining. "We can only hold him for so long, and I'd prefer that the neighbors _not_ see what's going on!"

"Well, that'd be a lot easier if you didn't have ten-million frickin' keys on your keyring!" Gilbert retorted, groaning as he took out the current key and thrust in another one.

"Guys, I know we're all tired and testy, but let's not fight, all right?" Elizaveta tried to reason, though she was also finding it difficult to bear Matthew's weight. "Besides, yelling will just draw more attention to us."

"I'm just glad we left Rod back at his damn house. Who knows what crap he'd be nagging us about now." Gilbert cussed loudly as he yanked the key out again and tried a different one. Finally, he turned it and a merciful click sounded. "Yes!" he shouted, bursting through the front door.

"Great, now let's get him to the guest room before our arms give out," Alfred groused. He stepped into the house backwards as he held the boy up from under his arms, and Elizaveta supported the legs. Quickly, but carefully, they maneuvered through the den and turned left into the spare bedroom. Their movements slowed as they laid him down softly on the thin sheets.

"What now?" Gilbert asked, scratching his head.

Alfred removed the gray blanket covering Matthew and sighed at the task before them. "Now, we get him out of these clothes so that Dad doesn't suspect anything. Um, Elizaveta, maybe you should go find some aspirin or Tylenol or whatever it is he needs. We keep the medicine in the cabinet above the sink."

She nodded and left the room in search of the pills. Gilbert and Alfred exchanged glances; neither of them wanted to do this. "Okay," Al suggested, "how about we get out some clothes for him to change into and then figure out how we handle this?"

"I like that idea." The boys left the room, making a left into the kitchen as the wall cut off suddenly. The staircase leading upstairs was on the other side of the barrier; there wasn't a railing on that side, so it was necessary to have the wall there. They snuck up the stairs and grabbed some random clothes from Al's room before heading back down.

Noticing his friend's stash, Gilbert inquired, "Why are you carrying underwear?"

"Well, we don't know if he's wearing anything under those shorts, so… And besides, even if he is, he should have something clean to wear."

Elizaveta, waiting outside the guest room, saw them come around the wall, confused, as she hadn't seen them go upstairs. "Lemme take the meds inside, babe," Gilbert said, snatching the bottle from her hand. "He's sleeping anyway so we can't give him anything yet." She was about to smack him over the head, but he'd already slipped into the room. Alfred followed after, carrying the clothing, and all he could offer her was a half-hearted shrug.

With everything ready, the two faced each other, knowing they had to make a decision eventually. "Rock, Paper, Scissors?" Alfred proposed.

"Couldn't we play Cowboy, Ninja, Bear?"

"I don't _know_ how to play Cowboy, Ninja, Bear."

"Fine, we'll settle this with Rock, Paper, Scissors."

The boys each held up their right hands, curled into fists, and glared with determination. In perfect synchronization, they shook their fists up and down, chanting, "Rock, paper, scissors, SHOOT!"

Gilbert kept his hand in a fist while Alfred's index and middle fingers imitated scissors. "Rock smashes scissors!" the albino shouted in victory, pretending to crush the "scissors" with his "rock". Alfred groaned at his loss and turned his attention to Matthew, lying helplessly on the bed sheets. He reminded himself that this was all to help him.

"Hey wait," Alfred said, thinking about it now, "wouldn't it be better to clean him up first and _then_ dress him?"

"You lost, dude, so you do it." Gilbert smirked as he walked out and closed the door, joining Elizaveta in leaning against the wall. "So, Al's busy. Wanna make out?"

"Go to hell. Can't you read the atmosphere?"

"Hey…hey, sorry for trying to lighten the mood, all right? Yeesh."

Elizaveta sighed. Gilbert just didn't know how to be serious, and this situation was no laughing matter.

Behind the door, Alfred was running his fingers through his short blonde hair, not looking forward to this at all. Tossing his leather coat aside, he figured that someone had to do it, and it was his house anyway. Deciding he would remove the clothing once the bath was set, he picked Matthew up bridal-style and carried him into the adjoining bathroom, gently laying him on the bathmat. He then plodded back to the bedroom to gather up the clean clothes he planned to change the boy into afterward, placing them on the sink countertop.

Alfred made his way over to the bathtub and twisted the rusty faucet labeled "H", letting the water heat up before he lodged the plug in the drain. Oh wait, if he poured in some bubble bath, he wouldn't have to see anything as he washed him. Also, the soapy water would probably clean the kid in places Alfred would rather leave alone.

All right, so now the bath was full and everything was in order. It was time to stop procrastinating on the more embarrassing part of the job. He took a deep breath and knelt beside Matthew. First, he undid the collar, allowing it to slip off the boy's slender neck. The action revealed several hickeys, but even more than that were the bruises. Either the collar had been fastened too tight or someone had tried to choke him.

"What a life," Alfred whispered, disheartened as he hesitantly pulled the sparkling tank top over Matthew's head. His skin displayed more marks, more signs of beatings. He had to turn his face away when he pulled down the black shorts, afraid of the wounds he might find there.

Focusing his eyes on the wall, he lifted up the boy's ailing body and brought him over to the bathtub, lowering him into the steaming water. Alfred grabbed a bar of soap and a washcloth, soaking the towel in the soothing liquid before slathering the soap on. He then proceeded to scrub away the smeared makeup obscuring Matthew's face. It was coming off easily, along with the dirt and dried sweat. Once he's cleared away the impurities, he took a closer look. _God, he's beautiful_, Alfred thought, again in awe before the fallen angel. Without a trace of cosmetics or blemishes, he was the essence of purity.

"Matthew, how'd you end up like this?" There wasn't any point in asking the boy, for he was unconscious, but the thought was heartrending. It was becoming more and more evident to him that something just wasn't right with this picture.

He temporarily put the thoughts aside and kept washing the boy's blemished skin. The washcloth slipped down the neck and over the shoulders; he worked on Matthew's back before the chest. The only areas Alfred wouldn't touch were the lower regions, stopping just above the bellybutton and continuing down at mid-thigh.

Once Matthew's skin had been cleansed, Alfred moved onto the hair, squeezing out some of the apple-scented shampoo. A smile spread in remembrance of how his dad had bought it by mistake and the two of them had liked the fruity aroma, so they kept getting it. He thought of how pleasant it would be for Matthew to wake up with the smell of apples in his hair, contrasting with the fragrance of cherry blossoms his body would carry from the bubble bath.

Oh, Matthew's hair was so smooth and silky now with the shampoo purging the filth as he ran his fingers through it to make sure every strand was refined. He rinsed out the golden locks, now clinging to the boy's face in their wet state, that beautiful face…

_That beautiful _whore's _face_, Alfred reminded himself, troubled by the range of emotions tangoing inside his mind. He almost slapped himself the next moment, his thoughts changing again. It just didn't feel right… to call Matthew a whore. To even put his name and the word "prostitute" in the same sentence felt like a contradiction. He evoked innocence, naivety, and a tramp was anything but.

Alfred didn't want to think about that right now. It was too distressing. How much he wanted to believe Matthew was this pristine individual, but his body was tainted with the profession. There were some things you couldn't just wash away.

Sighing, he reached into the water to pull the plug and let it drain out. The level gradually decreased, slowly unveiling more of Matthew's body, inch by inch. Before he could stop himself, his eyes scanned over the boy, and he blushed, quickly moving his glance to the wall once he realized what he was doing. With his eyes focused elsewhere, he slipped an arm underneath the knees, wrapping his other around Matthew's back to support him. Carefully, Alfred lifted him up and walked over to the bathmat where he laid him down again. Well, maybe some of the mat would absorb the water so that he wouldn't have to dry off those areas. He dropped a towel over the body, hoping it would soak up the moisture as well as it covered up.

Grabbing two towels from the linen closet within the room, Al used one to ruffle Matthew's hair dry. He had to prop up the kid's head in doing so, so he inched his knees under Matthew's back to bolster the weight. Only now, the back of his head was resting on the other towel, draped over Alfred's lap; it was incredibly awkward.

"Please don't wake up," Al pleaded, rubbing the hair harder in his uneasiness. He really did not want to be caught in this compromising position.

After drying off the rest of Matthew's skin, except for the regions the towel concealed, he gingerly lifted the boy's head out of his lap and slid out. Now he had to dress him.

He swiped the clothes off the counter and hastily slipped the boxers onto Matthew with the towel still covering him. Oh, God, Matthew was wearing his boxers. This guy was wearing _his_ boxers.

…This guy, this guy, oh Matthew was a _guy_! Another factor to add into Alfred's tumultuous cycle of mixed sentiments.

Shaking his head to push the thoughts away, he tugged the pair of socks onto Matthew's feet, sticking each one through separate pants legs. His attempt to hike the jeans up his hips failed with the friction of the denim and the mat's fibers, so he pulled him onto the tile and tried again with success. With that out of the way, Alfred pulled the red sweatshirt over the boy's head, then slipping his arms into the sleeves before shifting the bottom of the shirt down his torso. Well, the hard part was officially over; now he could take him back to the bedroom.

Once again, Al picked Matthew up bridal-style and walked through the doorway, laying him on the sheets. Opening the door leading into the room, he peeked out and saw Elizaveta and Gilbert lounging on the sofa. They were watching that stupid reality show, _Jersey Shore_. He smiled, thinking of how he and his friends always put it on to poke fun since the cast didn't reflect New Jersey at all. "Hey guys, I finished."

The two looked over their shoulders at him and got up, eager to see the results. "Wow," Gilbert uttered in surprise when he saw Matthew, "he actually looks normal now. Well, if you ignore his pretty face."

"He's so cute," Elizaveta spoke softly as she stroked the slightly damp blonde waves.

"Hey! I-I can be cute too! You know, if I wanted to. I'm just too awesome for that."

"Oh, I highly doubt that, _Gilbert_." She drew out the first syllable of his name, knowing how much it bothered him.

"Don't you dare play that card."

"_Gillllllllll_-bert."

"Cut it out!"

"_Gillllll_-bert, oh _Gilll_-bert!"

"F-Fine! I'll just make fun of your name too! …D-Dammit! There's nothing wrong with it!"

Alfred observed them a while longer before heading back to the bathroom to collect the discarded tramp clothes. As he touched the collar, he realized that its existence was a major reason why he was questioning the assumption that Matthew was a whore. The collar showed that the boy belonged to someone, and although he didn't know much about prostitutes, he was pretty sure that they roamed free; they weren't anyone's property. Yet, the marks all over Matthew's body seemed to prove otherwise…unless he was some sort of sex slave.

Oh, no. No, no, no, he did not want to even contemplate the possibility that some kind of sadistic torture was done to poor Matthew. While he didn't want to believe the boy was a whore, he also didn't want to believe he was put through such suffering. The only thing he could speculate at this point was that Matthew was clearly involved in something sick, something horrible.

Alfred returned to the room and stuffed the clothing under the bed as Elizaveta and Gilbert continued teasing each other. Well, now the evidence was hidden, so all he had to do now was wait for Dad to come home and somehow convince him into letting Matthew stay with them. He was a smooth talker, but he could be coercive if he had to; the victories of their arguments used resided with him. What time was it now, anyway? He directed his attention to his watch and noted it: 6:02. Dad wouldn't be home for another two hours.

"Hey, hey, guys," Al addressed his now bickering friends, "let's not get too loud. Wouldn't want to wake him up."

"Fine," Gilbert conceded, a little peeved that Alfred had interrupted their dispute, but he recognized that it wasn't right to disturb the boy.

"Look," Alfred suggested, "why don't we go watch Jersey Shore? The Tylenol is on the nightstand and I can write him a note in case he wakes up when we're not in the room."

"Alfred's right, Gil. Come on, who doesn't want to see Snooki get socked one?" Gilbert smirked and followed her out to the living room, leaving Al alone with Matthew. He looked wistfully at the boy as he picked up the notepad on the side table, chewing on the pen as he pondered what to write. After collecting his ideas together, the pen met the paper and before he knew it, the note had written itself.

He folded it in half, titling the makeshift card "Matthew" before placing it lightly on the nightstand. Alfred made his way to the door, and before walking out, glanced over his shoulder once more at the figure sleeping on the bed. Not wanting him to get cold, he pulled a blanket from the linen closet and covered the boy with it. Finally, he left the room and plopped down on the couch between his friends. Now though, as he watched a second time as Snooki got punched in the face, he couldn't explain why he felt sickened; it didn't seem funny anymore, just horrific.

* * *

**(A/N: I'm just announcing here that My Skin will be updated every Wednesday due to time constraints from school. Please keep in mind that this is a tentative schedule. Thanks for all of the support so far!)**


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER III**

What a pain this was. Alfred's friends had left a little while ago, and that was when they realized they'd tracked the caked on dirt on their shoes into the house. He supposed they hadn't toweled off enough back at the field. So now he had to drag that sputtering vacuum out from the closet upstairs and clean everything up before his dad came home. He'd have a better chance of convincing him to let Matthew stay if the floor wasn't dirty.

Kicking off his sneakers by the garage door, he slipped off the muddied jeans and threw them into the adjacent laundry room. Alfred then hurried up the stairs to put on a new pair, only to find more dirt on the floor, to his dismay. Right, he and Gilbert had run up here to gather clothing to change Matthew into.

Once his jeans were on, he groaned and pulled out the vacuum. Al remembered that Matthew was sleeping and put the appliance on its lowest setting since he'd have to go into the guest room too. Quickly, he swept through the hallway and the loft. Then he suctioned off each individual step until he reached the bottom. Vacuuming around the wall to the guest room door, he slowly pushed it open to find Matthew was still resting soundly. Alfred wasn't sure why, but something about his face was so familiar, as if he saw it every day. Putting the thought out of his mind, he hastily sucked up all the dirt in the carpet and in the adjoined bathroom. Luckily, the boy wasn't disturbed by the light rumbling of the appliance.

Gently closing the door behind him, Alfred moved on to the den, which was all carpet, so he'd finish fast. Too lazy to look at his watch, he glanced to the oven across the room: 8:01 P.M. Dad would be home soon, so he'd better hurry up. Elizaveta had gone into the kitchen to fetch the Tylenol, so Al had to clean there. Thankfully, the wall stopped once the stairs did; it didn't separate the kitchen and den, so he could just vacuum straight across the room.

Even after he swept over the kitchen, some of the dirt stained the tiles. He grabbed a sponge and some cleanser, on his knees to scrub away the filth. God, he'd done enough scrubbing for his life. Was this what it was like for those housewives: always having to clean up messes all over the house? At least they were paid to go on reality TV.

Just then, the garage door roared open and Alfred heard the familiar sound of the car pulling in. Footsteps pounded up the small set of stairs outside the door, and he heard the garage start to close when his dad walked into the room.

"Al, I'm h-" Arthur announced, stopping as he rounded the corner of cabinetry that indicated he was entering the kitchen. Here was his son, diligently cleaning the floor. "What is this, a reprisal of _Annie_?"

"What are you talking about, Dad? My friends and I got the floor dirty, so I'm just cleaning it up. After all, I'm sure you've had a long, backbreaking day in Corporate America."

Arthur just stared at him, his bushy eyebrows furrowed. "Okay, you want something. Come on, spit it out."

Alfred sighed and stood up to face his father, tossing the sponge to the sink. "All right, so Eliz, Gil, Rod and I went to the vacant lot to play football today. Eliz kicked the ball into an alley, so I went to get it and- and we found this- this…"

"Please tell me you didn't bring home a bloody stray."

"What? No! No, he's not a dog! He's a guy! We found a guy!"

"What?"

"He was unconscious and lying in the alley, and he's really sick, he has a fever and everything, and I-I couldn't just leave him there like that, so…" Damn, why was he stuttering so much? He'd never felt so…unconfident. Was he really going to be able to convince Dad to allow Matthew tenancy?

"…So you brought him here?"

"Y-Yeah, we took him to the guest room. He hasn't woken up yet, so we couldn't give him any Tylenol."

"Can I see him?"

Alfred blinked. "Y-Yeah, of course, Dad." Arthur followed his son out of the kitchen and into the room. Al watched nervously as his dad got closer to Matthew. He hoped he wouldn't pull back the blankets and realize the boy was wearing Al's clothes, or smell the shampoo and bubble bath. Also, he didn't want Dad seeing the note on the nightstand either. Those were things he'd rather not explain. Arthur placed a hand on Matthew's forehead, feeling the temperature.

"Well, he's definitely burning up," he concluded, removing his palm and placing both on his lean hips. "We should put a cold washcloth on his head. Could you get that for me?"

Nodding, Al soaked a bathroom washcloth and slightly wrung it out. On his return, he carefully laid it on the boy's forehead. He turned his attention to his dad and made his proposition. "So…he can stay here for now, right?"

Looking to his son, puzzled, Arthur answered, "Alfred, of course. You didn't think I was going to toss the chap out the door, did you? That'd be cruel and inhumane."

_Didn't stop Rod from suggesting we leave him there. _"I-I dunno. I just wasn't sure what you'd think."

"I'll tell you what I think," he replied, ruffling Alfred's hair. "I'm proud that my son is such an upstanding citizen as to nurture a complete stranger."

Alfred smiled back at his father, happily accepting the praise for his heroics until he recalled the state he had found Matthew in. What would Dad think if he was the one to come upon the boy dressed in tramp clothes? If Al hadn't cleaned up Matthew's appearance, would his dad still applaud him for taking him in?

"Come on." Arthur moved towards the open doorway. "Let's leave the poor boy to his sleep." Alfred took another glance at Matthew's dear face before leaving the room, shutting the door behind him.

**. . .**

Voices shouting gruffly, hands grabbing harshly, all wanting him, every bit of him.

_"Oh, Matthew, come here darling."_

_ "No, come here. I want to stroke that lovely skin."_

_ "Hey, I paid before both of you. This kid is mine tonight."_

_ "Really? I think we should let him decide. You want to spend the night with me, don't you?"_

"No," he protested in his sleep. "No, I don't want to. I don't want to. No."

_"See, he doesn't like you. Come here, Matthew. I'll make you feel good. Isn't that what you want?"_

"No…" Tears escaped the corners of his tightly shut eyes, gracefully gliding down his cheeks. "I-I don't want this. I don't want this. I don't want this!"

Matthew was jolted awake, springing up from the mattress in his panic. He immediately began to cough and choke on air, his throat dreadfully raw and parched. They gradually subsided, and he panted heavily, clutching his hair in hope of solace. God, with all the nightmares he had, he couldn't tell anymore if they had actually happened or if it was just his imagination haunting the bends of his mind. How many of them were real encounters? What did it matter? He'd lost track of how many times he'd been used so long ago. Night or day, reality or figments of his fragmented mentality, they were all the same to him.

Slowly he began to control his breathing, taking them in deep. This worked until he tried to survey his surroundings. Everything was dark and blurry. Damn, where were his glasses? Oh, right, he'd left them behind by accident.

He noticed a clock on the bedside table; it was 12:22 in the morning. Wait, last he remembered, he'd been trying to fall asleep on the rough ground in that alleyway, rain pounding on his miserable self beneath that blanket. This was a bed, a soft bed with warm blankets and sheets. Looking around, he found that he couldn't recognize anything, and that even if the hazy blobs were clear, this wasn't a place he knew. Just where was he?

Realization, along with terror and grief, washed over him in a horrific concoction known as defeat. Of course, Ivan must have found him and hauled him back to the ring. Now, as punishment, the brutal Russian had done the worst thing he could: bring Matthew to his own dwelling. Any pet unlucky enough to be called to Ivan's lair received wounds far worse than any S&M freak they'd been subjected to could inflict. After all, Toris' treatment had been proof enough.

…Although, he couldn't imagine anything worse than Ivan's personalized "choking game", adjusted to fit his own sadistic needs for each pet. Matthew tenderly touched his neck, wincing as his fingers brushed over the sore bruises. What was worse: the discolored marks or his arid throat?

That was strange- he shouldn't have been able to touch his neck. Something, he couldn't figure out what, but something that was supposed to be there was missing. It didn't matter; he was too distracted by the sobs swelling in his chest. He wept into his hands, his aching body convulsing with each shaking breath. _So close_, he thought, lamenting as he tried to wipe away the tears with his sleeves. _I had freedom at my fingertips. I was so close…and that chance will never come again._

The abrasion between his eyes and the sleeves' fabric caught his attention. Hadn't he been wearing that tank top? He looked down at the red sweatshirt, lifting up the blanket to discover the jeans and white cotton socks. Then a fruity scent, mixed with the calming smell of flowers teased his nose. Sniffling now, Matthew guided his hands along the shape of his neck, and in pain, he realized what had been off: his collar was gone.

What was going on? Sure, it was plenty like Ivan to clean up his pets before brutalizing them, to catch them off guard and destroy their resolve with a little taste of freedom. But no way in _hell_ would he remove the only thing showing proof they were his property, his possessions.

It was when he glanced towards the clock again, searching for answers in the digital numbers glowing faintly, that he saw the bottle of Tylenol and the folder piece of paper with his name written on it. Baffled, Matthew reached over to turn on the lamp and opened up the note once he had sufficient light.

_"Hey! If you're reading this, you must be awake! Awesome! Okay, hi, my name is Alfred. I guess your name is Matthew since that's what the collar said. My friends and I found you in an alley. You were really sick with a fever. So, we took you to my house and I, well, gave you a bath. Sorry about that. It sounds really awkward, but I thought you'd be more comfortable if you were clean. Anyway, you have a fever, so read the directions on the Tylenol bottle and take some. There are paper cups in the bathroom. If you need me for anything, my room is upstairs through the loft and all the way down the hallways on the right. - Alfred."_

Matthew couldn't believe it at first, gaping blankly at the letter. This handwriting, the writer's voice, he couldn't recognize either of them. Hope amplified throughout his lungs, so intensely that he thought his chest might burst from the pressure, but he didn't care. He'd escaped; he was still free! After so long, so many nights of use and anguish, his prayers had been answered. This overbearing joy, was there any way to contain it? How much he wanted to shout in light of his liberation, from that torturer, from the daily exploitation, and from the doldrums that had taken over him for so long. He soon remembered that is was half past midnight. It wouldn't be good to wake people up at this hour.

His throat reminding him agonizingly that he needed water, Matthew slipped out from under the covers and grabbed the Tylenol before walking into the bathroom, flicking the light on. He immediately turned on the water in the sink and ran one of the paper cups on the side under it, rushing it to his mouth. Oh, how soothing it was, refreshing as it surged down his dried esophagus. He quickly refilled it, refusing to let even a drop of the precious liquid escape as he brought it to his lips. Removing the cup from his mouth, he popped two of the Tylenol pills and swallowed them with the water's aid. Matthew panted between swigs, unable to get enough of the treasured source as he replenished it over and over. Oh, it was pure, pure ecstasy.

As he took his attention away from the faucet, he looked into the mirror and noticed the bathtub behind him. That note…the Alfred guy had written that he'd washed Matthew in there. He chuckled at the thought, but it was a dismal chuckle. The guy had found it awkward, but that was something so absurd to him. Why should it matter how many people saw him without the comforting shroud of his clothes? His body had become but a tool; it was nothing more, nothing less.

…No, he'd promised he wouldn't think like that anymore; they both had. They were going to escape together and press the reset buttons in their minds, erasing all of the brainwashing they'd endured together. Neither of them had wanted the fate that had come to them, and they were going to make their own. At least that had been the plan until...they'd been separated.

_Toris_, he thought wistfully, _wherever you are, be safe._

Matthew walked out of the bathroom, and then the room's door caught his eye. Letting his curiosity get the better of him, he hesitantly made his way over to the entrance and turned the handle, pushing it open slightly. He got a glimpse of the spacious den, lit dimly by the moon shining in through the paneled glass surrounding what looked like the front door.

_Maybe I'll explore a bit_, he thought, following along the wall on his left.

**. . .**

It was nearly half past midnight when Alfred's stomach woke him up, enraged that it hadn't been fed for nearly eight hours. He'd been too busy to eat dinner last night, and now he was paying for it. Groaning, Al shifted under the blankets, pulling them aside to step out of bed. Well, there wasn't any way he was going to get any sleep with an empty stomach.

Alfred trudged sluggishly along the hall, turning left at the loft and left again down the winding staircase. He made his way to the bottom and into the small, carpeted area before reaching the kitchen tile. He figured he'd just grab a bowl of sugary cereal and head back upstairs right afterward. Wait, sugar would only keep him up longer. Well, he was already awake anyway, and no way was he going to eat anything healthy. Al rummaged through the pantry, snatching a box of Lucky Charms. He returned to the bar counter overlooking the den as he calmed his ravenous stomach with the cereal of little nutritional value.

When a figure walked out from behind the wall beside the staircase, Alfred almost thought they had installed a mirror there. The boy's face was so similar to his own. But the hair was longer, wavier, and his eyes were a gorgeous violet-blue.

…Oh God, it was Matthew.


	4. Chapter 4

**(A/N: School is starting to get hectic again, but I'll still do my best to get these chapters in on time. Now then, onward to the next chapter.)**

**CHAPTER IV**

"M-Matthew?"

He jumped, whipping his head around to the sound of his name on someone's lips. All Matthew could make out was the silhouette of a person near…a counter? Without his glasses, it was difficult to decipher the blurry figure in the faint light, even while he squinted his eyes.

"Hey, hey, it's okay. I'm Alfred."

Trying to wrap his mind around the thought, Matthew was at a loss. Slowly, his eyes began to adjust to room, and he could see a person behind what was indeed a counter. Short blonde hair came into focus as his eyes narrowed more. "…You're the one who wrote the note?"

"Yeah. You took the medicine, right?" The boy nodded. "Okay. Uh, sorry I startled you."

Letting his muscles relax, Matthew sighed and replied, "No, it's okay. I just, I don't have my glasses with me, so I can't see that well. I guess it just added to the effect."

"Oh, well, uh, I have some extra pairs, so I could go get them and you could see if they work for you. How about that? Uh, here, you're probably hungry; have some cereal- wait, you need a bowl and a spoon and…just hold on."

While Al was searching for the utensils, Matthew grabbed a stool and sat on the side of the bar still in the den. After fetching another bowl, Alfred handed a spoon to the boy and poured in the _Lucky Charms_. "Okay, I'm gonna go get those glasses." He nodded and dug into the meal, realizing how hungry he actually was. It was a bit difficult to swallow with his aching throat, but the pain was worth it. The only things he'd eaten in over a day now were Tylenol pills, and those were never good on an empty stomach.

As the boy focused on the food, Alfred rushed upstairs, feeling awkward as hell. Seeing Matthew awake had stirred up his memories, and talking with the boy while recalling washing his skin was just too embarrassing. Not to mention the fact that all Al had on were a men's tank and boxers. It was August after all; the air conditioner was broken, and he was often overheated during the night. Well, Matthew apparently had bad eyesight, hence why Al was running up the stairs in the first place, so hopefully he hadn't noticed.

Alfred reached his room and threw on a pair of sweats before shuffling through desk drawers for his former glasses cases. Luckily, once his own grumbling stomach had woken him up, he'd slipped on his current pair, so he wasn't going to confuse them with the older ones. He hurried back downstairs to find Matthew happily chewing the sugary cereal.

"Hey, so I found these," Alfred announced, placing the cases down before taking a seat on the opposite him. The boy looked up from his meal and reached out to inspect them. In a sort of fascination, he opened and closed one of the cases, amused by the quick clap of its jaws. Then he took out the pair and slid them over his nose.

"Oh, these will work!" Matthew informed him, almost in childish surprise. "They're not perfect, but I can see pretty clear and they don't make me nauseous."

"That's good." Great, just what else was he supposed to say? Usually he was good at small talk, but now his mind was completely blank. "…So, are you enjoying that? If you want something different to eat-"

"No, no, no, it's okay." Matthew held up his hand to gesture so. "Any food is plenty. …Besides, I haven't had _Lucky Charms _since I was a kid," He smiled shyly, glancing at the bowl. Inside, he could sense the bliss bursting in light of his newfound freedom, but he held it in. Finally, he felt…human again.

"Really?" Alfred asked, resting his cheek on his palm as he looked at the boy in wonder. As much as he didn't want to admit it, Matthew was really cute…and a guy…but still so _cute_… "Hey, how old are you anyway?"

"T-Twenty-one!" he answered abruptly, dropping his spoon so fast it clattered against the porcelain bowl surface. Seeing how Al was a bit alarmed by his antics, Matthew felt his cheeks burning, unsure whether it was from the embarrassing outburst or his persistent fever. "I-I'm sorry; force of habit. Um, I-I'm sixteen."

"Wow, you're only a year younger than me."

Matthew was about to grab the fallen spoon and resume eating, but that last comment aroused his innate suspicions. Doubting every and any action, it was almost primordial to him. "…Why do you care?"

"Why?" Alfred wasn't sure he had an answer for that. He'd just been trying to carry the conversation and the question popped into his head. "I…I guess I'm just curious."

"Curious," Matthew reiterated, having trouble grasping the intent behind the word. His eyes widened, then slowly turned watery as sorrow flooded over him for the second time that night. Of course, how could he have been so stupid? This guy wanted something from him; everyone did. And there was only one thing people wanted from him. "Of course…of c-course…"

"Hey, wait, Matthew, what?" Alfred watched as the boy slipped off his seat and just stood there, as if he was unsure where to go, but knowing he needed to get away. "Where are you going?"

"Look, _Alfred_," he addressed him, stressing the name in quiet vehemence, "I'm not stupid. I know how I was dressed when you found me, and I know what you were thinking when you decided to bring me here. It's a-always the same with you people, isn't i-it?" Matthew could tell his voice was breaking as tears threatened to run over. Nonetheless, he continued, "W-Well I left the ring for a reason. I never wanted that life- I didn't _ask_ for that life."

"…I don't understand. The _ring_?"

"As in human trafficking? As in- in s-sex slaves? Admit it, you- you thought I was some ten-dollar whore!"

"I-"

"So if you think you're getting a 'reward' for taking care of me-"

"Matthew-"

"T-Then you've got another thing c-c-coming!!" The sobs had returned to his searing throat, the bruises burning along with his constricted airway. If breathing hurt so much, maybe he should just stop… To be thrown into this situation just after realizing he was free…only to find someone else wanted to use him…

"Matthew," Alfred reasoned, raising his hands to show he meant no harm, "I'm not trying to sleep with you."

"Don't l-lie to me!! Why else would you t-take me in?!"

"…I just wanted to help…" Why did these words cut him? His blue eyes wavered, his heart burdened. He felt…defensive, as if Matthew was attacking him with lines and phrases, as if he'd done something wrong.

"Oh, s-so this is just some hero fantasy! You get off on 'saving' people! Was cleaning me up part of your fantasy?! What was my clothing, some souvenirs?! "

"I-I-" Words…words that inflicted so much pain…

"Well, look, thank you for you 'hospitality', but I'm going now. I have plenty of people I can stay with that _won't_ rape me."

Matthew turned indignantly, trying to walk to the front door, but his legs went out from under him. _No! _he thought, bent on his knees, gripping the carpet fibers as his knuckles became white. _Move! Move!!_

"You're still sick," Alfred explained, walking around the counter to where Matthew now crouched on the floor. "You need to get some rest-"

"NO!!" the boy screamed as unfamiliar fingers touched his shoulder. He did his best to scramble away, trying to get as much distance between them as he could. Al could see the sincere terror in his distrustful eyes. "No, no, st-stay away. Please…p-please…I don't want this, I don't want this, I don't want this…"

He continued mumbling those four words, his eyes shut tight, as if it would block out everything and he could slip away. Even as Alfred drew closer and picked him off the floor to guide him back to the room, he wouldn't open them, his mouth emitting the same sentence. Detaching himself from reality to soften the blow, it was the only way he knew to cope. That and apathy, which he was already falling back into. _Toris…I can't keep our promise…I'm sorry._

"Come on," Al told him, supporting his weight as he led him to the guest room. Surprisingly, Matthew complied, walking with him as his lips stopped protesting otherwise. He willingly climbed onto the bed and laid back, his wrists flat and facing upward on the pillow, his body waiting to be used. When seconds passed and Alfred was still standing beside him, Matthew reluctantly opened his eyes, slightly, his expression tired and puzzled.

"Matthew," Al tried to assure him in a soft voice, pulling the sheets over the boy, "I swear, I'm not going to do anything to you."

Soaking in the statement, his violet eyes became more lidded and he glanced to the side as a silent tear trickled down. "…How many times have I heard that these past three years?" It was a question neither of them could answer, and it lingered in the air as Matthew drifted off to sleep.

Exhausted himself, Alfred left the room and carefully closed the door, deciding it would take too much effort to trudge upstairs to his room. He'd just have to crash on the couch. Lazily pulling the blanket off the top of the sofa, he climbed onto the cushions and chose a square pillow to rest his head on. As he lay there for a few minutes before falling asleep, he thought of Matthew. Somehow, he'd been a part of a human trafficking ring, forced into prostitution, but he'd escaped. He'd honestly thought Al was going to rape him. The image of his terror-stricken face would always be burnt into his mind. Constantly plagued by the fear that people only want to use him, unable to trust anyone, always questioning another's motives…to think that was how the boy lived every day. The thought hurt him, much more than any of the piercing words Matthew had thrown at him that night.


	5. Chapter 5

**(A/N: So one of the reasons why school is getting hectic is because I'm starting up a research paper for English. Guess what I chose for my topic: human trafficking. Hey, if I have to write a paper, I'm gonna research something that will help me in the long run.)**

**CHAPTER V**

Okay, who in their right mind was ringing the doorbell at nine in the morning? Alfred groaned and reluctantly rose from the sofa, rubbing at his eyes in the bright sunlight. With much resentment, he unlocked the front door to find Elizaveta standing outside with two frappecinos. "Huh," she said in surprise, "funny, I thought you'd be awake by now."

"Is that your way of saying 'you look like shit'?"

"Yep," Elizaveta answered, handing him one of the frappecinos as she sauntered past him into the house. "Anyway, I came by to check out how the situation's going." She walked around the counter and sat on one of stools, facing the doorway. Noticing the two cereal bowls on the counter, along with the box of _Lucky Charms _Alfred had forgotten to put away, she naturally inquired about it. "You already had breakfast? I thought I just woke you up."

"Uh, no," Alfred replied, making his way over and sitting opposite her. He was still groggy as he ran his fingers through the short blonde hair. "Those are from last night." The previous hours of darkness flashed through his mind, and he moaned again, placing his hand over his forehead. It had definitely been a 'not as planned' kind of encounter.

"All right, just suck up your frap and tell me what happened," she told him before drinking her own. "I know this second bowl isn't from your dad since he'd never eat _Lucky Charms_. Whose is it then?"

He took a slurp of the frosty drink before replying, "Matthew's." Judging by how Elizaveta stopped mid-sip, he figured she hadn't been expecting that answer.

"No way, he woke up?!"

"Yeah, sometime around midnight, but he's asleep now."

"So what happened? You gotta tell me!" Her enthusiasm was puzzling, but he complied nonetheless.

"Okay, um, I came downstairs, got some cereal, and then he walked into the room." He looked up with Elizaveta staring at him as if she were on the edge of her seat. "Okay what is up with you today?"

"Just continue!"

"…Well, I kinda startled him, and then I found out he couldn't see well, so I got him some cereal and then got an old pair of glasses. Then I just tried to make small-talk and I asked him what his age was. He said he was sixteen, but then he…he got all suspicious on me."

"What do you mean?"

Alfred sputtered about as he tried to find the right words. "It's just- he, he thought…I mean, augh."

"Come on, Al, you can do it!" Her green eyes were sparkling with excitement in the suspense.

Taking a deep breath, he tried again. "He- he thought I was…was trying to…just, sleep with him."

Elizaveta's mouth dropped open at this installment. To think that she'd discover the perfect yaoi scenario in her own life…what better luck could she ask for?

"And I tried to explain I wasn't thinking that at _all_, but he wouldn't listen!"

"What did you do?! Did he force himself upon you?! Did he demand that you pay him?! Oh my god, this is insane!"

"What?! What- where is this coming from?!"

"Al, he's a prostitute, remember?"

Oh…Of course, Elizaveta wasn't there when Matthew told him what was really going on. How could he fault her for still thinking that when he'd figured the same just yesterday?

"No, no, Eliz," he attempted to correct her, "he's not a prostitute. He…he ran away from a human trafficking ring. He was like a sex slave."

Overcome with shock, all she could utter was, "…Oh…oh my god…"

Alfred rested his arms on the counter, his head sinking close to the granite surface. "I just…I feel terrible for thinking that…"

"Al, you didn't know- none of us knew that. I agree, I feel terrible now too, but we didn't know any better. All we've ever had in terms of prostitution exposure has been on television or in movies. And, well, there is that one part of the town that's rumored to be whore-central, but I've never been there, so I don't know if that's true."

"But still, we just assumed he was a whore right off the bat! Isn't that prejudice? Everything our country fights against?" His voice softened as he continued, "…Oh god, what if we really had left him behind?"

"Al, you were the one who said all that mattered was that he was sick and needed help. You weren't just going to leave him there, and neither was I. I have no idea about Gil, but, well, if Rod had been by himself… Look, there's no reason to beat yourself up over this."

"Eliz," he addressed her, his voice somber, "you didn't see him. You didn't see how scared he was. It's something I'm never gonna be able to forget."

"Al…" she began, only to be followed by a sharp gasp. With her stare focused behind Alfred, he decided to look over his shoulder in curiosity, only to find Matthew standing warily somewhat behind the wall. His expression was just as stunned as Elizaveta's, as if he hadn't expected to be spotted.

"How long have you been standing there?" Alfred inquired.

"Since she told you to 'suck up your frap'," Matthew answered, diverting his eyes away in a timid manner. "The doorbell woke me up, and when I came out, I saw you talking, but you didn't notice me. See, I have this knack for turning 'invisible', I guess."

"…Look, Matthew, I-"

"Don't apologize," he interrupted him. "I can't blame you for thinking that about me. I mean, just remember how I was dressed. You made an honest mistake, and, and I should've handled it better. I-I wasn't thinking clearly; I got so upset because I thought you were trying to use me, and I'd just gotten free, and I was so judgmental-"

"But so was I-"

"But I was the one that said all that stuff…about…a hero complex…and such…" He worked up the courage to walk forward and take a seat next to the American. "I just…don't know how to trust people. You were kind enough to take care of me, and all I did was distort your intentions to fit, well, what I've expected of people by now. …So, I'm sorry."

"It's okay." Alfred lifted up his hand to place it on Matthew's shoulder, gesturing everything was all right, but the boy flinched away from the movement. He was so sensitive to touch, like a fractured a wineglass, afraid he'd fall apart from the slightest of contact. Slowly, Al lowered his hand, watching the tension leave the boy's body.

"So…" Matthew mumbled, twiddling his thumbs beneath the counter, "um, last night, you know how I said I have a lot of people I can stay with? Well, that was a lie. I don't have anyone. I don't have anywhere to go."

"What about your parents?" Elizaveta asked him. "They must have been looking for you."

A silence passed over the room as Matthew gripped the denim of the jeans, struggling to control the sorrow relapsing in par with his memory. "…My mother…died f-four years ago in a c-car accident…A year later…he sold me to the ring to pay for his debt. I-I don't have any other relatives."

"…I-I'm so sorry," she apologized, feeling guilty that she brought it up. Alfred and Elizaveta exchanged glances as the boy stared down at the floor, thinking the same thing. Matthew couldn't even refer to the man as his father.

"I bet he's up in Canada, w-wasting away on booze a-and gambling. Well, let him. I don't care." Anger had crept into his still quiet voice, and his hands shook as they clutched the jeans tighter.

"You're Canadian?" Alfred was stunned by this information. Canada was pretty far from here. The closest point was probably seven hours away…by car.

"Yeah. He, he starting talking about heading down to the U.S. for summer vacation, and I thought, 'Hey, maybe things are going to change for the better. No more drunken shouting, no more gambling his bank account away.'

"We c-came down to New York City and…and I think he must have drugged me. I remember getting real tired and next thing I knew, I…I was th-there. And that's how it's been…for three y-years. But, I, I'm free! I'm free now!"

"Matthew," Alfred spoke with a serious tone, "don't tell me you walked all the way here."

"I, I did," was his answer. "Why? Where…where are we?"

"New Jersey," Elizaveta informed him.

"…We're only one state over?"

"God, how long were you walking?"

"A day, maybe? Maybe two. We stopped once in the night, and there was another day of walking, so at least two."

Alfred blinked, running over what he'd just heard in his mind. "Wait, did you say 'we'?"

"…Oh…I did." Once again, painful memories returned, but these ones, along with his emotion, were harder to suppress. "Right, we…we left the ring together. …Toris and I."

Once again trading glances with Elizaveta, Alfred questioned, "Where's Toris?"

Matthew's eyebrows furrowed as he thought hard, having trouble recalling what had happened. Finally, he rubbed his temple and answered, "I don't know. I remember it was night and the rain was coming down hard. I wasn't feeling well and Toris was supporting me as we walked along… All the sudden we started sprinting. I, I don't know why. Somehow, we got separated. Then I…fell down beside a dumpster…and woke up here. …Oh God, where is h-he?"

Elizaveta looked like she was pondering something before breaking the silence with, "Do you know how far you ran before you got to the dumpster?"

"N-Not that long. Why?"

"Well, if that's the same dumpster we found you at, then Toris has got to be somewhere in town."

His eyes lit up at the possibility. "Are you sure?"

"Pretty positive. It's not like he would run off without you, right?"

"No, no way. He wouldn't do that. We promised that we wouldn't leave without each other; that we'd escape and start life all over again. …But we were being chased…what if Iv- …what is _he_ was chasing us? What if he caught Toris?! Oh my god, he'll be brutalized!"

"Wait; do you know where the ring is?"

"W-Well, if you took me back to the city, I'd be able to find it. Why?"

"If whoever runs it took Toris, we could just call the police! You could lead them, and hell, they could even bust the whole ring!"

"…No," Matthew declined, shaking his head sadly. "No, I can't. I can't."

"Yes you can."

"No, no, they won't help. They don't care."

"Sure they do! Would all those people that have been arrested if the police didn't care?"

"Do you have any idea how little those numbers are in comparison to how much trafficking there is? Minute, absolutely minute. They see us all as trash. We're just whores to them. They don't even bother with us unless we literally scream 'I've been forced into prostitution!' And even then, they might not care."

"That can't be true-"

"Alfred, you've never had officers breathing down your back, paying to do to you…what they promise to s-stop! You don't know Toris! He screamed to one…and was raped by the very person you reached out to for help! You weren't beaten and nearly ch-choked to death by _him_ for trying to get help! …The police don't care, no matter how many laws they make to hinder trafficking. You can't trust them, you just _can't_."

"…I'm sorry," Alfred apologized. What was he doing, acting like he knew more about it than a victim himself? And how could he have expected Matthew to trust the police when he couldn't even trust him last night?

"God, Toris might be there…"

Al tried again to place a comforting hand on the boy's shoulder. He flinched slightly, but let it stay there. "Until we know for sure, we should assume he's free. Chances are he's still here, okay?"

Matthew nodded, gripping the hand on his shoulder with his own, searching for solace. Blushing at the contact, he squeezed back when the boy did. Elizaveta noticed, and her breath was caught in her throat as she sipped her frappecino. They were just so _cute_ together.

"Look," Alfred suggested, "why don't you stay here until we find him? He's bound to turn up around town if we look."

"A-Are you sure that's okay?"

"Hey, I can get my dad to do almost anything. Don't worry, I got this."

Tears slipped out of the corners of Matthew's eyes, but he was smiling, overcome with emotion. As long as there was a chance that Toris was out there, they could keep their promise and finally live again…together. "Thank you…thank you so much. I just, I can't accept this for free though. I know; I'll work here! I'll clean and stuff, whatever I can do to make up for my rent. I'll get started right now!" In his high spirits, he jumped up from his seat and grabbed a sponge from the sink to begin washing dishes. He looked over his shoulder at them and flashed an adorable smile. "Really, thank you so much. I promise I'll pay you back."

Alfred felt his heart beat faster…just as his sweats rose in a certain place. …He needed to leave the room for awhile and…calm down. Dammit, if he got up, it'd be so _obvious_; this was loose cotton fabric, not restrictive denim. What was he supposed to do?

As he contemplated so, he caught Elizaveta smirking at him, almost _knowingly_, and his blush darkened. He averted his eyes to the wall, trying to focus on anything else but the sound of Matthew humming some love song while he scrubbed away the filth on the dishes.

It was more difficult than he thought, so he drank the rest of his frappecino in silence. Maybe the ice and coffee mix would cool him down. Either way it was tasty…probably like Matthew's lips would be, or his tongue, or…why, why, _why_ wasn't this working?


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER VI**

By some miracle, Alfred was able to convince his father to let Matthew stay and work for his tenancy. He had to admit, Dad took it much better than he thought he would. "It" meaning Matthew being a victim of human trafficking and letting him temporarily live at the house while searching for Toris. Of course, there had been the "Why can't we call the police?" and "Is it even legal to keep him here?" arguments, but Al managed to pull through and win. Arthur was a good person; he seemed to understand the situation and he couldn't think of a better solution. Still, his dad had asked a question that he couldn't shake: "What's going to happen when you find him?"

It haunted him into the next week as he pondered the possibilities. Just what were they supposed to do? Matthew had said he didn't have anywhere to go, and if he and Toris were to travel together, that meant the same for the other. They couldn't just live off the streets, and they would need cash to survive, so the two would need to get jobs. The Canadian was only 13 when he was sold into the ring, so he hadn't even graduated from high school. Well, in New Jersey, a student could drop out at age 16, so Matthew technically didn't have to go to school. But if he wanted a job other than working at a fast food joint, a high school diploma was necessary, along with college.

And now that Alfred thought about it, were they even legal immigrants? At the moment, he knew nothing about Toris, but Matthew had a passport. Didn't someone need a visa to stay in the U.S. for a long time? God, what _was_ a visa? He was so confused and he felt as if his brain would fry from all of the questions.

He decided to share his concerns with the Canadian as they sat on the porch, slurping popsicles in the August sun.

"Honestly, I don't have a clue," Matthew answered, a bit dejected, his violet eyes focused the ground. "I don't know much about American laws or immigration or education or any of that. I don't know where to go or what to do."

"If I could, I'd persuade my dad to let you guys stay with us, but I'm already treading on thin ice here. I'm not sure he'd be open to it since he's already letting you stay here, but that's under the condition that it's temporary. We don't know how legal all this is, and he's real concerned about that kind of stuff, you know?"

Matthew sighed and licked the ice pop, an action that was starting to make the American restless. "I just, I want to find Toris already so we can figure this out. He's all I can focus on right now."

"It's bothering you, isn't it? That we haven't found him yet. It's only been a week since you got here, so it's kind of expected."

The Canadian's brows furrowed, and he sucked fretfully on the popsicle before replying, "I feel this would be so much easier if I could remember what happened when we got separated."

"You can't beat yourself up over that," Alfred reasoned. "You said yourself that you weren't feeling well at the time."

"You don't forget things because you're sick," Matthew argued cynically. "And now I'm doubting everything I remember from that night because of it."

"Well, you were right about the dumpster, and it did rain sometime last week, so those two check out." He knew it wasn't much consolation, but if the fragments Matthew remembered were true, the rest likely were too.

"…I know it's there," the boy stated, getting more and more frustrated with his memory, "but I just- I _can't_ remember, and it's driving me crazy!"

"Matt," Alfred addressed him, placing a hand on his shoulder, "it's okay. I'm sure it'll come back to you, but even if it doesn't, we can still find Toris. Come on, it can't be healthy to worry so much."

"Well, _you're_ worrying just as much as I am," Matthew countered, turning to the American as he stuck the popsicle into his mouth with a defiant look in his eyes.

At that moment, Elizaveta burst out of the front door, announcing, "Hey guys, _Jersey Shore _is…" She stopped there, her eyes sparkling at the scene before her. Alfred felt his face flare up, realizing how suspect they looked to her, with his hand on Matt's shoulder and with the popsicle in that Canadian mouth. He figured Matthew did too, as his shoulder tensed under Al's grasp. The Hungarian put a hand to her mouth, trying to stifle either laughter or squeals. "_Oh_, my bad. I'll leave you two alone." She quickly walked back into the house, and Al could see that she was laughing hard.

"H-Hey! Come back here! It's not- My god, Eliz! Hey!" He chased after her, trying to explain, but of course, it was a lost cause. "You've got the wrong idea!"

Unnerved, Matthew followed after him, the neighborhood suddenly less welcome. Without someone he trusted by his side, he felt vulnerable, as if the streets would swallow him up. He looked out warily before closing the door with trembling fingers.

**. . .**

"Really?" Alfred complained as his grumbling stomach woke him up in the middle of the night. "Come on, I actually ate this time!" It growled in response, so he gave in. He was probably the only person in the world who could actually argue with his stomach and have it answer back.

As quiet as he could, he made his way down the staircase, careful not to wake anyone. Once again, he got out his trusty _Lucky Charms _and wolfed them down. Satisfied, he returned the box to the pantry and placed his bowl in the sink with a muted _clink_. Just as he was about to head back upstairs, his ears pricked at the faint sound of crying. If the house hadn't been so silent, he probably wouldn't have picked up on it. The only person downstairs at this time of night was…Matthew.

Alfred hesitantly strode over to the guest room, rapping softly on the wooden door. He heard a gasp, the voice attempting to repress its sobs before answering the knock. "Wh-Who…?"

"Al," he answered, somber.

"C-Come in."

He complied, opening the door to find Matthew sitting up in bed, sniffling and rubbing at his eyes. "H-H-Hi."

"Hey, you okay?"

Miserably, the Canadian shook his head, the tousled waves swaying as he did so. "…N-No," Matthew replied, avoiding Alfred's troubled gaze. "I'm just so worried. I keep racking my brain, but it won't come."

Al assumed he meant his memory. Slowly, he walked to the bedside and kneeled, almost eye-to-eye with the boy. "Can you remember anything that might've happened before you started running? Anything?" On all those crime shows, even the smallest detail could change everything. Maybe it worked in real life too.

"I told you, we were walking for a long time; over two days."

"Well, you had to stop and rest sometime, right?"

"Yeah, but just to sleep. Either that or food and bathroom runs. …Wait."

"What?"

"That night…we went into a pub. Toris needed to use the bathroom, so I waited for him inside. He said it'd be risky for me to stay outside. Better to be in a well-lit bar than alone on a dark street. …Actually, it was right after we left the place that we started running, now that I think about it…"

"There's a pub, like, a block from that alley," Alfred explained. "I think it's the _Limey Bar & Grill_. Dad goes there all the time. Why don't we head down there tomorrow and retrace your steps? Maybe it'll refresh your memory."

"…Yeah," he said, realizing it was the closest thing to a lead that they were gonna get at this point. It couldn't hurt; only help. "Yeah, let's do that."

"Great." Al smiled, glad that Matthew had calmed down and wasn't crying anymore. He turned toward the door and asked, "So, are you gonna be okay for the night?"

Matthew blushed and averted his eyes timidly, unintentionally seductive as he pleaded, "C-Could you stay? Just for tonight. I don't like sleeping alone, but I could tough it out if you're uncomfortable. That's what I've done all week."

Why was it so hard to resist the boy, especially when he asked him looking like _that_? Just staring into those innocent, heroin eyes fueled his desire, but he couldn't simply slip into bed with him. He didn't want to put himself in that situation, knowing how easy he could give in to temptation.

"…Let me get a sleeping bag," Alfred answered, leaving the room to do so. Matthew sighed, relieved that he wouldn't be alone, and that the American decided not to sleep in the same bed. He trusted Al now, but it would be awkward…and he wasn't sure he could trust himself. For years, he had serviced many clients every day, and escaping had meant quitting cold turkey. He'd been getting agitated, almost as if his body was going through withdrawal.

Alfred soon returned with a sleeping bag and a couch cushion, laying them down on the carpet. He shuffled inside, resting his head on the pillow as he stared up at the ceiling. Matthew smiled to himself, feeling secure with the American's presence there. "Thank you."

"No problem," Al replied, folding his arms behind his head. He wasn't quite ready to fall asleep yet, so he decided to strike up a conversation. "So…what's Toris like? I mean, you told me what he looks like- white with long brown hair and blue eyes- but you haven't said anything else about him."

"…Toris is kind, patient and understanding," the Canadian confided in him. "He'll be nineteen in February. I'm not sure what his situation with immigration is, but I know he came from Lithuania and he's been at the ring longer than I have. I don't really know about his past.

"He spends a lot of time thinking and worrying, usually about others; he puts everyone else before himself. He's pretty serious and he can get depressed easily, but that's what I'm for... what he is for me. We pick each other off the ground and get through it together. He's my entire support system…and I'm lost without him."

Alfred felt crestfallen, with only a faint idea why. The words tugged at his heart, taunting him until he knew he had to ask. "…How do you feel about him?"

The Canadian pondered the thought, offering, "I don't know. I care so much and I'm always thinking of him, but whether that's because he's all I've got, I don't know." He fought the urge to ask "Why?" since he trusted him. Alfred had a natural curiosity; he knew that. Still, it was hard not to question his reasons, or anyone's for that matter, but he was determined to break that habit.

Expecting as much, Al felt the words ridicule him, wondering if he was becoming a masochist since he'd walked into this pain all by his own choice. It was selfish to wallow in self-pity as Matthew and Toris had dealt with unimaginable horrors, but it didn't change the fact that he was upset. All of the things the boy had said, especially about his feelings, Al wanted him to say those things about him. He found comfort in the slow cadence of Canadian breaths that filled the room, in some hope that he could have a chance.

* * *

**(A/N: Spring Break is coming around next week, and I'm sad to say that where I'm going, I'm not having internet access, so my stories will not be updated until the week of April 4th. I'll still be working on them, but I won't be able to post them. By the way, if anyone caught where I got the phrase "heroin eyes" from, good for you! You have great taste in music.) **


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER VII**

When Alfred woke up in the morning, his tenant had already left the room. Yawning, he rolled up his sleeping bag and carried it and the pillow back to the den. The scent of pancake batter, along with the sound of Matthew humming a melodic tune, caught his attention. "Good morning," the Canadian greeted him as he walked across to the kitchen, flipping flapjacks on the griddle.

"Morning," Al replied, fishing plates and eating utensils out of various cabinets. This sort of morning had become customary over the week, with Al setting the counter and Matthew cooking. "Did you sleep well?"

"Pretty much. I woke up a few times, but then I looked over to the floor…and saw you…and I could fall back asleep. Again, thanks." He blushed bashfully as he spoke, tossing the pancakes onto a plate, each a perfect composition.

"You're welcome," Al answered, realizing he'd forgotten to get out cups for their milk. As he pulled them out of the cabinet, he heard his father trudging down the stairs. Right, it was his day off. He grabbed another glass and the third plate before opening up the fridge to get the two-percent milk. "Morning, Dad."

"Morning, Al," Arthur grumbled as he rubbed at his eyes, having not completely woken up yet.

"Good morning, Mr. Kirkland!" Matthew addressed him, his posture suddenly upright. Alfred fought to suppress a laugh as he almost choked on his milk. It was so cute how Matt acted so polite in front of his dad, trying to give off his best impression. However, it always came off as abrupt and frantic, yet adorable.

"Huh? Oh, good morning, Matthew." Arthur took a seat opposite his son at the counter and began drinking his glass, hoping it would wake him up. The Canadian soon brought over the platter of pancakes, butter, and the pure maple syrup from his native country. He sat down next to Alfred and the three dug into the meal.

"God, Matt, how'd you learn to make such good pancakes?" Al asked through his food-filled mouth. It was true; the flapjacks were absolutely _delectable_.

"…My mother taught me her recipe when I was a kid," he answered after a pause. "I have it memorized by heart since I've made it so much. …Um, and back _there_, um, _he_ would sometimes let me make breakfast for everyone, so I haven't forgotten it."

"…Oh, right," Alfred replied, stuffing some more food into his mouth. The atmosphere became awkward since they were talking about Matt's past in front of his dad. Well, Al did need to discuss their plans for the day with him, so this was probably the best time to bring it up. "Um, so Dad, can you take us to the _Limey Bar & Grill _today?"

Arthur stopped mid-bite as he processed the question. His son hated being dragged to that pub since he was underage, and the Brit tended to get obnoxiously drunk whenever they went there. "…May I ask why?"

"It's the last place Matt remembers being with Toris before they got separated, so I thought maybe he'd remember what happened if we went back there."

"Hm, that's reasonable, and it _is_ my favorite pub. All right, when do you want to head over there? It doesn't open until twelve."

"Maybe we should go at night so we can recreate the circumstances. Matt, that'll make it easier to retrace your steps, right?"

Matthew nodded, sucking at the leftover milk staining the rim of his glass. "Sounds good to me. You should still get dressed though." He had changed his clothes the moment he got up, so Alfred and Arthur were the only ones still in their sleepwear. "I'll wash the dishes in the meantime."

Al found it endearing how the boy eagerly jumped up from the counter and collected their plates, using a soapy sponge to scrub away the remains in the sink. Matthew's behavior in front of his father was so similar to that of someone meeting his lover's parents for the first time. He entertained this thought as he headed upstairs to change, considering how wonderful it would be if that were actually the case.

**. . .**

"Arthur, _mon amour_!" the bartender flirtatiously welcomed him as the three walked into the bar, humiliating the man in front of his son. "I have not seen you in so long! Do not tell me you've been unfaithful!"

"What bloody hell are you spouting now, Francis?" Arthur growled, trying to push the Frenchman away. "I was here a week ago! Don't give me this 'unfaithful' crap!" Of course, he should have expected this to happen since this was Francis after all, and he loved embarrassing the Brit.

"Ah, who is this?" Francis inquired, scanning his eyes over the timid boy hiding behind Alfred, who was laughing at his father's mortification.

"This is my friend, Matthew," Al introduced him, stepping aside to give the bartended a better look. The Canadian just waved shyly and blushed, already uncomfortable with the attention.

"He's the only reason we're here," Arthur declared crossly, taking a seat at the bar counter, "so give me a beer and let them be."

"_Oui_," Francis replied, picking up a glass and filling it with the Brit's favorite drink. Arthur came here so often that he knew the brand by heart. With great tact, he slid the mug over to him without spilling a drop. "You really should try a French wine someday. Having the same thing day after day must be _so _boring." He wasn't sure if the Brit would pick up on his subtle innuendo, but he enjoyed making them.

"Why the hell do you even work here, you wine bastard?" he ridiculed him, taking a swig of the beer. "You're French! This is an English pub!"

"My, my, one gulp and you're already shouting like a drunkard."

"I AM NOT!"

"Just ignore them, Matt," Alfred told him. "All right, so what happened that night?"

"Toris walked into the bathroom. I waited for him at the bar." He slipped onto a stool to reenact his movements. "…I started to feel uncomfortable."  
"Why?"

"…I don't know. Maybe someone was looking at me weird or something. We were still in our working clothes and I had that gray blanket around me, so I suppose it would be."

"Okay, next?"

"Toris came out and we left…turning right." Alfred followed him out the door, the sound of his father arguing with the bartender thinning as he made his way outside. Matthew froze as the bell jingled another time, the American walking through the door. "…I remember hearing that as we walked down the sidewalk. People came out after us."

"People? More than one?"

"Yeah. The door didn't close for a while, and…I heard several pairs of footsteps…and laughter. Likely drunk." He replayed it over in his head, recalling small bits as he stood on the sidewalk. "…They started hitting on us." Matthew spoke slowly, the dark weight of the memory threatening him to back off and let it go. But he was so close; no way was he stopping now…no matter the cost. His eyes widened as he was filled with a panic, the same feeling that had overcome him on that night.

"Matt!" Alfred called out as the boy broke into a sprint. He ran too, straining to catch up to the Canadian. "Matt, what-"

"Keep chasing me!" he screamed, his heart pounding with terror as he tore through the sidewalk. This was the only way he would remember everything: by reliving the night, emotions and all.

"What? What the hell-"

"Just do it!"

Alfred dashed after him, alarmed by Matthew's startling antics. Just what was going on?

The Canadian kept running, panting hard as he gripped the make-believe hand next to him. It slipped away suddenly, and he heard a shout as Toris was wrenched from his side. His feet skid on the sidewalk as he slowed, Alfred crashing into him from behind, as he hadn't expected the boy to abruptly stop. He looked over his shoulder, envisioning the recreation. "…Someone…some guys…pulled him away."

_"Toris!"_

_ "Keep running!"_

Panic was restored to him, and Matthew sprinted away again, desperate to find the truth. "I kept running!" he hollered as he ran around the corner of the block, Alfred in pursuit. "I ran into the alley and fell! Then I hid behind the dumpster…"

Matthew sat plastered against the brick wall as someone walked into the alley, but his frightened mind imagined three sets of footsteps. Slowly, the person came into view, and his breath stopped altogether, replacing the concerned look of his friend with the faces of the culprits.

Then the memory flooded back full-force:

Voices shouting gruffly, hands grabbing harshly, all wanting him, every bit of him.

_"Check out the name on the dog tag. This bitch's name is Matthew!"_

_"Oh, Matthew, come here!"_

_ "No, come here. I want to stroke that lovely skin."_

_ "Hey, I was here before both of you. This kid is mine tonight."_

_ "Really? I think we should let him decide. You want to spend the night with me, don't you?"_

"No…No, I don't want to. I don't want to. No."

"Matt? Matt, what's wrong?"

_"See, he doesn't like you. Come here, Matthew. I'll make you feel good. Isn't that what you want?"_

"No…I-I don't want this. I don't want this. I don't want this!"

_"Why don't we take turns? I don't mind sharing as long as I get to fuck this bitch up."_

"Matt!"

He woke from the trance, staring into Alfred's worried face as it all clicked mercilessly inside his head. That dream…it had been a memory…the surroundings and their words might have changed…but it had really happened. To think that the answer was right in front of him all this time…

"Matt?"

"G-Gang rape," he softly uttered, his violet eyes hollowed.

_The purity…I regained in my newfound life…was lost before I knew it.

* * *

_

**(A/N: So Matthew suffered from a bit of repressed memory from the traumatic gang rape. Basically, the victim blocks the memory out of his or her mind as a coping mechanism. Repressed memory is often associated with child sexual abuse, but repressed memory can occur in practically anyone.)**


	8. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER VIII**

For days and days, Matthew simply cleaned, his mouth shut and his eyes watery. Those desolate eyes asked for nothing, only emptiness. No one bothered him; no one went searching for Toris. That was what he wanted: to be alone and sort things through as he focused on small tasks. It pained Alfred to see him so lost, so hurt, but he knew the boy needed time to himself after recovering his memory.

Sometimes, he thought he heard the guest room's shower running over five times a day. It was as if Matthew was trying to purge himself of the memory, and the impurity that came with it. Al had become accustomed to the seeing the boy with damp hair, his sweatshirt pulled up far enough to shroud his neck as he trudged along through the daily chores. As he'd thought the time he bathed him, there were some things that just couldn't be washed away.

One late afternoon, Alfred walked into the den to find the boy lying on the couch, his back to anyone entering the room. Careful not to startle him, he asked, "How are you feeling?"

"Bad," Matthew simply answered, his tone flat. Al kneeled in front of the couch, slowly rubbing his friend's back, who made no effort to stop him. As he made circles in the fabric with his palm, the boy's sweatshirt gradually slinked down from his neck, and something caught his eye.

"…Matt, what's around your neck?"

"N-Nothing," he immediately denied, shrinking into the couch cushions.

Alfred's concern grew in light of this response. Why would Matt lie to him? He grabbed the sweatshirt, yanking it down to confirm his suspicion.

Matthew was wearing his collar.

"Matt…" Al uttered softly, his friend flinching at the sound of his voice. He was giving up, reverting to his apathy and losing his sense of worth. Al couldn't let that happen to him; he just _couldn't_. "Take it off."

"No," Matthew refused, trying to inch farther into the sofa. He would do anything to get away from his brutal reality.

"Matt, take it off."

"No."

He tried to remove it himself, but Matthew slapped his hand away, pulling up his sweatshirt again. Alfred wouldn't let him succumb to atrophy, no matter how much Matt resisted. "Matt, you can't do this. You're better than this."

"I'm worthless."

"No, you're not."

"Worthless."

"Matthew, you're beautiful."

The boy quivered at these words, fighting to keep his indifference, the only way he knew to cope with the trauma. "D-Don't say that. I'm just a worthless tool. That's all."

"Matt, you're worth so much more than that!"

"A tool's worth is in its use," Matthew cynically spoke, shifting over to face his friend. "So use me."

Alfred couldn't believe what he was hearing, his blue eyes wide in horror. He watched, stunned as the boy bent over the edge of the couch. Hands reached for his fly, but he pushed them back.

"Al, just use me," Matthew pleaded, his hollow eyes sullen.

"I won't," Alfred declined, determined to break the boy's mentality.

"Use me. I exist only to be used."

"You're not a tool," he fought back, gripping the hands within his own. "You're human; you have rights. Listen to me, Matt: I will not use you."

Matthew looked away, morose. All he wanted was to be used, so he could just forget everything and drift away. Why couldn't Al understand that?

He was beginning to turn away when he heard, "What about Toris?"

"…Toris is dead."

"You don't _know_ that! You said you were going to run away together and start life all over again! What about that life?"

He glanced over to Alfred, seeing the worry in his face. His lips trembled, rationalizing, "Th-That life died the moment those guystouched me. All I want is to be used, please."

"Really? Do you really want this, Matt?"

The words broke through, the memories he was trying desperately to suppress resurfacing through the perforated barrier. Life came back to his diluted eyes as they emitted dull tears, and he began the mantra. "No…no, I don't want this. I-I don't want this. Oh, God, Al, I don't want this!"

He tackled Alfred to the ground, sobbing into his chest as he repeated the words over and over. Relieved that he finally got through to him, Al comforted the boy, embracing him as he cried. Little by little, so that Matthew wouldn't notice, his fingers crept up the boy's back until he reached the neck. In a swift flick, he snapped off the collar, causing Matt to gasp.

"Wait!" he exclaimed, looking up frantically at Alfred.

"You don't need this," Al solemnly told him, keeping this hand with the collar in it far from the boy.

"Al…"

"We're going to burn this. We're going to free you from the hold it has over you."

Matthew hesitated, wanting to hold onto the refuge that came with the collar. "Al…"

"It's okay, Matt," Alfred assured him, sensing his friend's apprehension. "I'll be here."

Finding a sense of security in his words, Matt reluctantly nodded to show his approval.

The two rose from the carpet, Alfred with his arm around the boy as they plodded over to the garage to collect the firewood. With arms full, they carried the fuel over to the fireplace, carefully arranging the logs. Al rifled through the kitchen cabinets, searching for the matches. Once he found them, he came back to the den with a crumpled newspaper page. As he struck a match, he threw the paper into the hearth, followed by the small fire. The paper began to burn, the printed words of worldwide catastrophes consumed by the flickering flames.

As the newspaper died, the logs crackled in ignition, the sparks spreading. The two watched the fire grow, the light reflecting in their resolute eyes. Matthew looked to the other as the fire burned on in heated radiance, waiting for affirmation. When Alfred returned the glance, he nodded, signaling it was time.

They stood to face the flames, and Matthew quaked, his hand clammy as it clutched the collar. He stared into the blaze, afraid to go through with the plan. A gentle squeeze on his other hand, along with the words, "It's okay," empowered him, his resolve restored. In vehemence, he hurled the oppressive leather into the fire, his breathing rising with the flames.

Alfred tenderly placed his hand on the boy's shoulder, calming him as the flames licked the collar and the stench of charred ruin filled the room. They sat before the hearth, the sweltering heat causing them to perspire. Matthew groaned, pulling off his sweatshirt as the warmth overpowered him. He wanted to keep watching the fire, and the performance was worth shedding the stifling cloth. Al mimicked him, casting off his own shirt.

Together, they sweated and panted, basking in the afterglow. The flames began to die down, reduced to smoldering ashes as night fell. With the remaining embers still burning, Matthew made a decision, sharing it with his friend. "…I want to stop looking for Toris."

Unsure if he heard him right, Alfred turned toward the boy, baffled. "What are you talking about?"

"We've searched for him and he hasn't turned up. Honestly, I'm convinced that either those guys…raped him and took him somewhere or he left after trying to find me."

"You said yourself that he wouldn't leave without you. Besides, it's a big town, Matt. We probably just haven't run into him yet."

"Al, at this point, he could be anywhere." He gazed forlornly into the fireplace before continuing. "…Yes, he could still be here, but it's a small chance. I want to see him and make sure he's okay, but I can't keep worrying like this. I need to let go and move on with my life."

"…All right, we'll stop searching for now, but I don't want you to give up completely. Take some time to heal and focus on other things, but don't completely forget about him. Okay?"

"…Yeah."

A silence passed over the room, and they returned to watching the dying flames.

"…Matt," Alfred addressed him uneasily, unsure how to express what he wanted to say. When Matthew fixed his innocent eyes on him, he sucked in a deep breath and declared, "I know I'm not Toris, but if you want, you could, you know, start life over…with me." Why did he have to lack confidence at such a vital moment?

At the sight of Matthew's surprised face, he was sure that he'd decline the offer, until the boy hugged him. Now, it was his turn to be shocked. "Matt, what-?"

"I'd like that," Matthew asserted, resting his head on Al's shoulder. "I'd like that a lot."

Smiling, Alfred wrapped his arms around the boy, reciprocating the embrace. They held each other peacefully as the last cinders faded away in the late August night.

**. . . **

"Alfred, you cannot be serious," Arthur griped, rubbing his temples. God, he was going to need a beer after this, and it wasn't even twelve in the afternoon yet.

"Dad, please, _please_ let him live with us!" he begged. Al knew that this was going to be the most difficult persuasion of his life, but it was the most crucial.

"You said that this would only be temporary."

"And _you_ said that he could stay here until we found Toris, but that's the problem. Matt's really upset after the…incident, and he wants to stop looking for him. And even if we did find Toris, where are they supposed to go?"

"The point is that his residency was intended to be short-term, not permanent."

"So what, are you just going to toss him into the streets? What happened to being an 'upright citizen and nurturing a stranger'?"

"I don't _know _what to do, Al! What do you expect me to say?"

Al groaned, slumping over the counter. This fight was going to be nearly impossible to win, even for him. "Then what's wrong with letting him stay?" he complained, his words almost muffled by the granite surface. "It's not like you have a better idea."

Confused, Arthur asked him, "Why is this so important to you?" He had never seen his son so passionate and devoted to his side of the argument.

Alfred lifted his head up from the counter, only to rest his elbows on the surface and slouch again. "…I think I love him," he mumbled.

His father was stunned by the response, stuttering, "A-Al you've known him for less than- than a _month_."

"Well, I think that's what I'm feeling, but if you want to be all skeptical, then fine. I really care about him and I want him to stay with us because I want to be with him and comfort him and all that awesome stuff."

Arthur sighed, placing a hand on his son's shoulder. "Alfred-"

"Does being gay run in the family?" he asked candidly, causing his father to nearly jump off the stool.

"What? What the bloody hell?"

"Well, aren't you gay? You're always going down to the bar to see that bartender."

"W-We are _not_ in a relationship!"

"Dad, I didn't ask if you were. Now, I'm serious: does it run in the family?"

His face burning and his bushy eyebrows twitching, he replied with difficulty, "N-No, Alfred, being gay doesn't run in the family. I'm pretty sure it's not genetic."

When his son opened his mouth to ask another question, Arthur interrupted with, "And _no_, I am not gay. How do you think you were conceived?" Sure, he and his former wife had gotten divorced soon after their son had been born, leaving him with the job of raising a child on his own. However, that was a consensual decision based on marital problems, not sexuality. "Look, Francis is just a very good friend of mine."

"Come on, Dad," Al teased him, a favorite hobby of his, "I _know_. You try to hide it be acting like a total ass, but it's _so _obvious. Admit it, you're at least bi."

Arthur hated that his son could see right through him. He groaned, deciding that he definitely needed a beer. "Look, Alfred, I don't want to talk about this right now. I'm going to head down to the pub, and we'll discuss this whole ordeal later, okay?"

The boy pouted, crossing his arms, but accepted it. Letting his dad get roaring drunk at the pub would give him more time to work up his case, so he'd use this to his advantage. "All right. Say hi to my future dad for me."

The Brit cringed, trying his hardest to ignore this last statement as he walked through the garage door. God, sometimes, he really let his kid get the better of him.

**. . .**

Francis was busy shining off the many wineglasses and beer mugs when he heard the knock on the pub's door. Glancing over his shoulder, he noticed Arthur standing outside, that signature disgruntled expression splayed all over his face. The Frenchman smiled, sauntering over to unlock the door to inform his dear one that the bar wouldn't open for ten minutes.

When he opened it, the Brit immediately declared, "I don't _care_ that you're not open yet; I want a beer, and you're going to give it to me, dammit."

"All right, _mon cher_, but you're going to have to pay extra for this exclusive access," Francis explained, stepping aside to let the man pass through. "Only it's a different currency than you're used to…"

"I don't have time for your flirting," Arthur spat as he took a seat at the bar counter. "Just give me a beer."

"Are you sure you do not want to try that French wine I am always recommending?"

"Fine! Whatever! Just give me something as long as it's alcohol. I really don't give a damn, okay?"

"Aren't we testy today?" Francis noted, pouring some exquisite French wine into a glass for him. He poured another for himself, figuring they had a long conversation ahead of them. "Now, tell me what's wrong, _mon amour_, and I'll make it all better."

Arthur took a sip, questioning the odd taste of the grapes, but deciding to drink it nonetheless. "…He asked me if being gay runs in the family. In the _family_, for God's sake!"

"'He?'"

"Alfred, of course! What other family do I have?"

The bell rang as a Cuban man walked through the door, looking to the two men at the counter. "Sorry, are you open yet?"

"Oh, why not?" Francis proposed, shrugging his shoulders. "What would you like?"

"Anything, really," the man said and he plopped down on a stool. "I'm not picky."

The Frenchman chose the same wine since it was already out. After serving the Cuban, he returned his attention to Arthur. "So Alfred came out to you?"

"I don't even know," the Brit mumbled, the wine already having an effect on him. "He started insisting that Matthew live with us permanently and after that, it just all goes downhill."

"Ah, _Mathieu_ was that cute boy Al was hanging out with when you came here a few weeks ago, right?"

Arthur grunted as he processed the way Francis had just pronounced the boy's name. God, his French accent was so annoying…annoyingly hot. "Yeah, he's convinced that he's in love with him or something."

"And how is that wrong?"

"I'm not saying it's wrong; I'm just afraid he might be jumping the gun. He's known the kid, what, a month? And he's only seventeen…"

"How old is _Mathieu_?"

"I think he said…sixteen? I don't even remember." Arthur took the wine bottle and poured himself some more. It really wasn't that bad.

"There is nothing wrong with young love, Arthur."

"I'm not saying there is! I'm just worried!" The man sighed, resting his head on the table. "God, this wasn't even supposed to happen. I let him stay thinking he'd just find his friend and they'd be on their way."

"Oh, he still hasn't found him?"

"No, hence why he's still here." His words were starting to slur, but he didn't slow his intake of the wine. "And now they want to take a break from the search for God knows how long."

The Cuban man stood up from his seat to fish his wallet out of his pocket. "Thank you for the wine, but I must be on my way." He paid for his drink and walked out as Francis consoled the complaining Brit.

Once he had put distance between himself and the pub, he pulled out his phone and dialed a number as he strolled through the sidewalks. "Status report, Ismael?" A voice asked him once the call went through.

"Matthew's definitely here," Ismael passed on the information. "He's been staying at some drunken Brit's house, probably the one the destroyed collar pinpointed us to. No news about Toris yet, except that he's been looking for him, so they both must be here."

"Good work. I want you to stay in the town for a while. Don't make any moves until I order so. I want you to stay under the radar."

"Affirmative. I gotta say, Ivan, you've got some nifty technology. Installing chips in the collars that send out a signal should they become damaged…maybe not as effective as GPS tracking, but still ingenious."

"You know me," the Russian stated in his icy manner, "I like to make sure nothing happens to my pets. Report to me should anything else happen."

"Roger that," the Cuban replied, slapping his cell phone shut. Those kids were going to regret running from the ring.

* * *

**(A/N: Longest chapter yet. I decided to use Cuba's fanbase name for this story. See you guys next week!)**


	9. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER IX**

September took the place of August, and Alfred returned to school, although he had trouble focusing. Every day, he rushed home to spend time with Matthew and his friends.

The boy was a common face among them now, even with Roderich. Though, when he first met Matt after weeks of hiding out in his house, the atmosphere had been rather awkward. He had only recently found out about Matthew's situation because Elizaveta decided to finally reconcile. They had never told the Canadian about how Rod wanted to leave him behind when they found him, so it confused him to find shame in the Austrian's face.

On the weekends, they hung out and played football, but homework and school days made it difficult for everyone to get together. Alfred spent most of his time with his tenant at home. Sometimes, he'd even teach Matthew what he was learning at school, since it helped him get his work done. Matt didn't mind, and he even seemed to take genuine interest in the little lessons. The boy's sincerity and sweet smile always filled Alfred with unadulterated joy.

Matthew had been recovering, though there were still times when he woke up screaming from nightmares. Al could tell a hidden guilt was eating away at the Canadian from trying to let go of Toris. Matt had decided to pick up the searches again because of that guilt, but nothing had come of it so far. It was discouraging, but with Al by his side, he held onto hope.

Alfred wasn't sure how to describe their relationship. He wasn't sure if they were dating or friends or somewhere in between. Yes, he had told Matt that he could start life over with him, and the boy had accepted his offer, but what did that really mean? He'd never been put in a situation anything like this one, and the flimsy middle school dates weren't much experience. It was nerve-wracking trying to figure out what they were to each other.

The two would embrace and entwine their fingers, but Alfred wouldn't dare to go any further. Matthew was still sensitive to touch, as he shied away from the contact. Recently, though, he had been acting strange; restless and fidgeting, his face red and words sputtering.

The American didn't understand what was going on until one afternoon on the weekend, when he found Matthew lying on the couch again. At first, he'd feared that Matt was relapsing back into his depression, but that didn't look like the case. The boy's face was flushed and his eyes half-closed, almost as if he were sick.

"You feeling okay?" Alfred asked, placing a hand on Matt's forehead. It wasn't hot, but he sure didn't look well.

Trembling, Matthew mumbled something the other couldn't catch. "Sorry, what?"

"Pl-Please," he pleaded, his words stumbling between tepid breaths. "Please m-move back."

"What? What are you-?"

"Al, please. I-I can't guarantee I won't j-jump you."

Alfred's blue eyes widened as he understood the meaning behind the words. He obliged, stepping back a bit. Taking in the sight of Matthew curled up on the sofa, a blush rose to his face as he put two and two together.

"S-Sorry," Matthew apologized, "but I don't want to t-take any chances. I-I'm not used to, well, not being u-used every day, so I've been getting really, um, agitated. I've tried ignoring it, b-because……a-all I can think of i-is…you know, b-back then." He didn't bother telling Alfred about how he'd tried jerking-off to deal with it. That would be _way_ too awkward, especially since, strangely enough, it was only a successful alternative when he imagined Al's hand on him.

"…Um, there's got to be something I can do to help, right?"

"A-Al, I'm sorry, but the best thing you can d-do is stay away and let me…c-cool down."

"…Okay," Alfred conceded, reluctantly walking away. Unsure where to go, he climbed the staircase, an idea coming to mind. Maybe Elizaveta would know what to do.

When he reached his room, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed her number. It rang a few times before she picked up. "Hello?"

"Hey, Eliz. It's Al."

"Hey, what's up? Gilbo and I are over at Rod's house."

Alfred heard a faint "Stop calling me that!" in the background. She really did enjoy teasing him about his name.

"I need some help, well, some advice I guess."

"Ooh, does this have to do with Matt? It does, doesn't it?"

"…Yeah, um, I thought you might be able to help me since I know you read those comics with the guys…together, and…yeah."

"Oh man, you've got to tell me what's going on over there."

He sighed, rubbing his forehead before answering, "Matt's acting kinda…strange."

"How?"

"I-It's like he's in heat or going through sex withdrawal or something."

Judging from the silence on the other end of the phone, Alfred figured his friend was waiting for him to say more, so he continued. "He's on the couch and his face is red and he doesn't want me near him because he's afraid he's gonna jump me or something and I don't know what to _do_."

"…O-Oh my God, this is amazing."

Exasperated, Al told her, "Look, can you just tell me what I can do to help? It's killing me to see him like this."

Elizaveta let out a few giggles. "Well, besides the _obvious_ option- meaning actually doing something with him- you could probably get him a lollipop or a popsicle to suck on. It might give him some relief."

He considered the suggestion, deciding it was actually a pretty good idea. "Okay, I think I'll try that. Thanks, Eliz."

"Anytime." She closed her phone, and looked to her friends, both of which looked confused by the conversation. "Come on," she declared, grabbing her video camera off the small desk. It was a good thing she brought it with her wherever she went now, just for moments like these. "I've gotta see this."

"Ooh, spying," Gilbert stated. "I like that. Rod, let's go!"

"No thanks," Roderich declined, "but I'd rather stay here." He had an inkling of what was going on, unlike the ever-so-impulsive albino, and it wasn't something he'd condone.

"Suit yourself." Gilbert shrugged and ran out after Elizaveta. Did he have any idea what they were going to do? Not really, but without Rod, it was a lot easier for him to make a move on her. Eliz was too awesome for the Austrian, so she needed someone that matched her awesomeness, obviously.

In the meantime, Alfred hopped back downstairs, stopping behind the sofa. "Hey, Matt?"

"Hm?" the boy weakly responded, the mere sound of Al's voice rousing him.

"Um, do you want to try, uh, sucking on a popsicle or something? To cool you down?"

Matthew blinked, gazing up at him. At this point, he needed release, and as long as he didn't force the other into anything, he didn't care how he got it. "Y-Yeah, sure."

He found the strength to rise off the couch and follow Alfred into the kitchen. Al pulled a popsicle out of the freezer and sat opposite Matthew at the counter. Ripping off the wrapper and lazily tossing it in direction of the garbage can, he held out the frozen treat. "Okay, here you go."

The boy took it with his hands, staring hesitantly at it. Slowly, his tongue inched towards it and gently touched the tip. He began a long lick from top to bottom, slithering back up and down the juicy surface. Alfred couldn't stop himself from watching the boy give the popsicle a blow job, one that would probably feel really _good_. To be stroked by that tongue…just, God.

It was so awkward licking the ice pop in front of Al. Why was that? He'd sucked real "popsicles" too many times for him to count, but simply tonguing the frozen treat with Alfred there felt different. It meant something.

After several shy glides, he let the popsicle pass his lips, sucking it fervently. Just listening to the slurping sounds, along with the visual image, was more than enough to turn Al on.

Juice dripped down from the melting ice treat, and Matthew switched back to licking to prevent the liquid from getting onto the countertop. It was getting all over his hands and face, and Al wasn't sure how much he could take.

Thankfully, the phone rang and he got up to answer it. "Hello?"

"Alfred, it's Dad."

"Oh, hey, what're you calling for?"

"I need you to go to the supermarket to restock the fridge. Unfortunately, my work is going to run late tonight, and you guys are going to need dinner."

Al opened his mouth to speak when Arthur interrupted, "And no, you can't just get take-out. It's already four, so you should head out soon."

Sighing, he answered, "Okay, I'll go to the store. Bye." He hung up before his father could return the goodbye. Looking up at him attentively, Matthew was still indulging in the popsicle when Al informed him, "I have to go get food and stuff. Will you be okay by yourself?"

Nodding, Matt mentally sighed in relief. Sure, he didn't like being in the house alone because he felt paranoid and vulnerable when Alfred wasn't around, but he'd be able to suck the ice pop and jerk-off in peace.

"Okay, let me just find my keys and-" Al stopped mid-sentence, his eyes attracted to the front door. Through the small paneled windows, he saw a video camera, along with Elizaveta and Gilbert. "Argh, again?"

Knowing they'd been spotted, the "spies" tried to escape, but they were no match for Al's heroic speed. He tackled Gil to the ground, Eliz just out of his reach. She stopped to catch sight of her fallen comrade, who was swearing loudly in his capture.

"Why am I not surprised?" Alfred asked, a bit pissed that his friends liked to spy him. They'd videotaped Matt and him plenty of times, but this was first time they'd caught anything mildly sexy.

"Hey, get the fuck off!" Gilbert shouted, struggling to get out from Al's weight.

"Al, don't get your panties in a bunch," Eliz told him, making sure not to inform him that she was still taping. "Even though we went over the speed limit, the popsicle was already in Matt's mouth when we got here. Of course, I still have a great yaoi film in the making here, especially with that _face_ you were making while watching him suck off."

Alfred blushed furiously, unsure of whatever expression he'd had, except that it had to be suggestive. He knew by now that there was no way to get her to delete her beloved footage, and he'd have to get over the fact that it would end up in some gay documentary she was making.

"Get off!" the albino continued to persist.

"Gil, I'll get off if you drive me to the store. Dad wants me to get food and I don't feel like finding out where the hell my keys went."

"Yeah, sure, whatever." True to his word, Al got off and let Gilbert brush himself off.

"Eliz, go inside and keep Matt company. And _don't _videotape him. He's got enough on his mind as it is."

"Yeah- _you_," she retorted playfully, but complied as she jumped up the porch steps. Entering the household, she found Matthew watching the doorway alertly, the popsicle in his hand. "Al and Gilbo are going to the store, so we're gonna spend some time together." She took a seat next to him and focused the camera on him. Who cared what Al said? "So how's it with you and Al? Are you dating? How did you feel sucking that popsicle? Did you wish it was him?"

Matthew attempted to shrink away from the intimidating lens. Aside from being bombarded with all of these embarrassing questions, now he wouldn't be able to get release for a while. "I-I guess…" he answered, bashfully averting his eyes.

"You guess _what_? That you're dating or that wish you were sucking him off instead?"

"I-I don't kn-know…"

"Oh come on, you can do better than that. Or maybe you'd rather he finally do you up the ass?" Surely, she was infringing on his privacy at this point, but he wasn't going to say no. And this was perfect documentation for future generations of fangirls. It had to be done.

Immediately, he cringed, shaking his head back and forth. "…No, no I don't want that…" He could entertain the thought of giving Alfred a blow job, since a part of him secretly wanted to, but not sex. All that did was revive the painful mental images of rape and use, even if he pictured Alfred in the place of all those filthy men.

Elizaveta sensed that she'd crossed into territory better left alone. Figuring she shouldn't continue this line of questioning, she turned off the camera. "Um, we can do this later, if you want."

"Yeah," Matthew agreed, trying to block out his sorrow. He began to suck the popsicle again, but it wasn't the same as before. Now, the bitter citrus taste only sickened him with the memories.

**. . .**

"Why are we at the Farmers' Market?" Gilbert complained as they walked through the open bazaar. "It's all vegetables and they don't have any shopping carts to ride around on. I wanted to ride a shopping cart!"

"Stop whining," Al demanded, although he also would've liked to ride a shopping cart. They were just so much fun! "Dad's trying to learn to cook better, and he likes the Farmers' Market because their vegetables are less expensive, so he can burn a lot more for the same price."

"Augh, but ol' Artie's not cooking tonight. You are!"

"Yeah, I know. Believe me, I'm still gonna order take-out. I have to make it look like I refilled the fridge, though."

Alfred may not have liked the food at the market, but he liked how open it was. There was a lot of space to move around, and it was fun to eavesdrop on others' conversations. Two people next to them were eyeing the greens.

"Like, look at this cucumber," the flamboyant blonde…_guy_ told the other. "We should, like, totally put slices on our eyes like a facial."

"Oh, I don't know," the other wavered, and something about his shoulder-length brown hair caught Alfred's attention. He wasn't sure what was setting off the little bell in his head.

"Come on, Toris, it'll be totally awesome, like seriously to the max."

The boy's appearance clicked with the name, and Alfred's eyes widened in disbelief. He gaped at the boy, looking to Gilbert for confirmation. The albino's red eyes were just as large. Returning his attention to the brown-haired guy standing a few feet from him, he tried to form words. "…T-Toris?"

He turned around at the sound of his name, and Alfred saw the inquisitive blue eyes land on him. Dear God…this was Toris.


	10. Chapter 10

**CHAPTER X**

Toris looked to the person, the familiar-like face registering in his mind. His heart nearly stopped, but it soon picked up the pace again. For a second there, he thought it might have been Matthew, but those sky blue eyes, along with the shorter blonde hair, proved that it wasn't. Just who was this guy, and how did he know his name? "…Sorry, do I know you?" Toris inquired, clearly uneasy with how this stranger had called out to him.

"I-I'm sorry," Alfred sputtered, unable to speak coherently, "it-it's just, just- you! And Matt!"

The Lithuanian's eyes lit up immediately. "…You know Matt?"

"Y-Yeah, he's been living with me for, for like over a month and a half, and- and, you know, I can call him up if you want."

"C-Could you do that?"

"Yeah, yeah, sure, just hold on." Alfred whipped out his phone, rapidly dialing Elizaveta's number and slapping it to his ear.

After a few rings, the call went through, and he heard Elizaveta ask, "Hello?"

"Eliz, it's Al. You- You won't believe it. We found Toris."

"What?" she shrieked, catching the attention of Matthew, who had been trying to sleep on the couch. At one point, he'd managed to get away and jerk-off, but despite his fatigue, her shout perked his ears.

"Can you find Matt and put him on the phone?"

"O-Of course," Elizaveta stuttered, turning to the boy, who stared at her curiously from the sofa. "Matt, Al's on the phone."

She passed off the phone to him, observing how he cradled it near his ear and softly spoke, "H-Hello?"

"There's someone here who wants to talk to you," Alfred informed him, letting Toris take the phone from his hands.

"M-Matt, it's me, T-Toris."

Elizaveta watched the inquisitive expression on his face change to shock, his body trembling slightly. His widened eyes closed as he broke into sobs. "T-T-Toris!" he wailed, "O-Oh my G-God! Y-Y-You're alive! You're alive!"

On the other end, Toris wept too, crying, "Matt, M-Matt, you're safe! My G-God, you're safe! Thank God!"

The two cried together, their emotions a complex blend of the relief and sadness they knew all too well. Toris composed himself enough to ask Alfred if he could see Matthew, which was granted. He handed the phone back to the American, letting the flamboyant blonde hold him close as a form of comfort. "Matt," Al addressed him, "I want you to stay there. Gil and I are going to drive Toris back to the house so you can see him, okay?"

"Y-Yes," Matthew answered. "Al?"

"Yeah?"

"Th-Thank you."

Alfred blinked in surprise, smiling as he replied, "Anytime. I'll see you soon. Bye."

"Bye."

Hanging up, Al returned his attention to the group before him. "All right, I didn't get to officially introduce myself, but I'm Alfred, and this is Gilbert." He extended his hand to the other two.

"A-As you know, I'm Toris," the Lithuanian introduced himself, shaking Al's hand. "This is Feliks."

He gestured toward the feminine blonde. Feliks looked away warily, somewhat hiding behind Toris as he quickly exchanged cash with the farmer for the cucumber in his hand. "Toris, we are _so_ using this for facials tonight, like, seriously to the max."

Toris simply nodded, knowing how shy his friend was with people he didn't know, not that he was the most extroverted person himself. It was amazing how loud and outgoing he became once he opened up. He would be comfortable soon, so the Lithuanian focused his mind elsewhere. Finally, after weeks of fearing the worst, he would be reunited with Matthew.

"Do you guys want to finish up some shopping before we go?" Alfred asked.

"It's okay," Toris answered. "We can come back another time. Right, Feliks?" Now it was the Polish boy's turn to silently nod.

"All right, let's go to the car then," Gilbert asserted, twirling his car keys around a finger. As they walked back to the parking lot, he asked Alfred, "You sure you don't need to buy anything first?"

"Yeah, I'm not gonna restock the fridge, but I doubt Dad will mind once he finds out we found Toris. He'd probably agree that this calls for a celebration, so we'll just get take-out."

Gilbert disarmed his car, pressing the "unlock" button. Alfred took the passenger seat as the others climbed into the back. Putting the key in ignition, Gil brought the engine to life and the convertible roared out of the lot.

They all sat there in an awkward silence, no one knowing how to start the conversation. Feliks hummed a _Lady GaGa _song. At last, Toris spoke. "…How's Matt doing?"

"P-Pretty good recently," Alfred replied. "The first few weeks, he wasn't doing so well, but he's healing. He's been so worried about you, though. We've searched all over town for you."

"We totally tried looking for Matt," Feliks stated, absentmindedly twirling his shoulder-length hair, "but we, like, didn't know where to look."

"…I assume you know how we got separated?" Toris inquired.

"…Yeah," Alfred said, remembering the pained look on Matthew's face once it all came back, "I know."

"For me, it's pretty hazy. Two guys slapped a cloth with this choking chemical smell over my face, and the next thing I knew, I was in Feliks's apartment."

"My, like, total bastard neighbors were dragging you outside my door in the hallway, so I totally jumped in and said I'd call the police if they didn't, like, leave you alone. They're total junkies, and it would totally suck to get caught, so they, like, did, and I took you in."

"Right. So when I woke up, I had no idea how I got here or where Matt and I had been. I didn't even know if he got away." Toris stopped there, looking to Al in the front seat, who was sadly gazing out the window. "…He didn't, did he?"

"…No," Al resolved the question. "No, he…he didn't. He just…ran into an alley and…it's not pretty after that."

"…My god," Toris breathed as he placed his head in his hands. "God, he was raped, wasn't he? Oh god, this is all my fault."

"It's so not!" Feliks retorted. "Don't forget they were trying to rape you too! Like, what bastards! I mean, I knew they were a bunch of potheads, but rape? I should kick those dicks in their dicks, those total dicks! "

"Feliks, It was my idea to go into the bar that night. I was tired and I wasn't thinking straight and now..."

"…Well, you could always charge them, right?" Gilbert asked, deciding to break into the conversation. "You know, call the police?"

"Ha, you're totally kidding, right?" Feliks countered, smirking with half-closed eyes. "Like they'd seriously care. They, like, never come into my part of town, and if they do, it's 'cause they're doin' illegal stuff. 'Sides, it's not like they'd ever listen to us."

"'Us'?" Gil questioned.

"Y'know, whores," the Pole bluntly clarified.

"What?" Alfred inquired, unsure that he'd heard him right.

"Feliks!" Toris chastised, "How many times have I told you to be careful how you talk?"

"Oh, please Toris, they've spent time with Matt. I'm sure they're desensitized by now, like seriously."

The Lithuanian was now clutching his own brown locks. "Yeah, but your situation and mine are completely different!"

"Let me get this straight," Gilbert declared, "you're a hooker? For real?"

"Hey, it's a living," Feliks scoffed. "You can, like, think what you want, but I totally don't care."

Alfred just stared at him, baffled beyond his wildest beliefs. "…I don't understand."

"Honey, what's to understand?"

"How can you possibly live like that out of choice, when you've seen what's happened to Matt and Toris?"

Feliks's complacent expression gradually changed to a sad smile. "Al, huh? You've, like, had a good life, right? I'm sure you know that not everyone's as lucky as you." Toris, who had been sitting next to him uncomfortably, gently took the Pole's hand in his, his eyes focused on the window."

Deciding to leave it at that, Alfred closed his mouth and let silence overtake the car again. Feliks went back to humming a tune as Toris slowly stroked his hand. When the convertible pulled into Al's driveway, the Lithuanian's heart started to pound again in anticipation. The four stepped out of the vehicle and walked around to the front of the house. Alfred remembered he hadn't brought his keys with him, so he knocked on the door instead.

Peering through the paneled windows outlining the door, he grinned as he saw Matthew jump up from the couch and sprint to the door. The boy's hand fumbled with the key ring because he was shaking so much. When he finally wrenched the door open, Al stepped aside as Matt ran to embrace Toris, weeping all the while. "T-Toris!" he cried, wrapping his arms around his dear friend.

"Matt," Toris whispered, running fingers through the Canadian's golden waves. His eyes also watered, emotional in the knowledge that they were together again.

Alfred watched in a sad, selfish jealousy. As happy as he was for Matthew, he had secretly dreaded this moment. With Toris found, the agreement he'd made with Dad had been fulfilled. His heart sunk with the thought of Matthew leaving with the Lithuanian, but that was what they had originally planned.

_So much has happened since then_, he thought, wistfully remembering how Matthew had agreed to start over life with him. It was true: so much had changed and nothing was set in stone yet; they still had to figure out where to go from here. The next few days would take the heart right out of him, but he'd just have to pull through. The pain was well worth the time he'd spent with Matt.

**. . .**

Matthew and Toris decided that they needed to talk alone, so the Canadian brought him to the guest room, closing the door behind them. They sat awkwardly on the bed, neither sure how to begin. "…How are you?" Toris asked.

"G-Good," Matthew answered. "You?"

"Good, good, I guess."

"…How's your back?"

Toris's felt the muscles of said area tense at the thought. He sighed, pulling off his sweater. "…It doesn't hurt anymore, but Feliks says it looks pretty bad." As the Lithuanian removed the clothing, the disfigured skin underneath was slowly revealed. Matthew grimaced as his eyes scanned over the multitude of scars that would never heal. His friend caught his distraught look. "Is it that bad?"

"…He really did you over with that whip," the Canadian commented, discolored marks reminding him of the other torturous tools Ivan used on him, "and the electroshock." Carefully running fingers over the mutilated skin, he watched for any signs of discomfort in his friend's face.

"…Right," Toris affirmed, slightly trembling with the memory, "the electroshock." The electricity had been the worst part of his punishment, with receptors attached to his lower regions as he was raped for the second time that day. After the incident, he found himself wondering how much Ivan had experimented to get the electricity to just the right wavelength to inflict excruciating pain without paralytic damage, always deciding it was a horrendous thought.

"You'd think he'd keep his pets unharmed," Matthew pondered aloud, "since clients don't like damaged goods."

"Matt, you know that's why we couldn't stay there."

"…Right," Matt agreed, remembering that it had been the main reason for their escape. The clients would have seen Toris's scars, and once word got around, they'd stop asking for him. He'd no longer be a source of income for the Russian, who would then either kill him or use him for his personal sadistic experimentation.

"A-And I couldn't leave without you…"

"Shhh," Matthew soothed him, hugging him from behind. "It's okay." They both knew that even if Toris had found the strength to defect from the ring on his own, Ivan would have tortured Matthew in return for the betrayal. The two had to escape together, knowing the ones they left behind would be safe from their defiance as they'd never formed close relations with the others. Ivan needed his pets to make cash, and he would spare them if they weren't directly connected.

"…Matt?"

"Hm?"

"I'm…sorry."

"Toris-"

"It was my idea to stop in that bar and it was completely stupid and risky-"

"Toris, none of this is your fault," Matthew tried to reason with him.

"Yes it is! Just- because of that….look at what happened to you…"

Matthew felt his breath clench in his throat, the burning memory resurging over the nerves of his mind. He knew Alfred must have informed Toris of the gang rape. "…What's done is done. I don't blame you for any of it. We're both here now, and we need to just…let go. So please, stop worrying about it. You're going to get a stomachache."

The Lithuanian sighed, grasping his scalp through the strands of his hair. They sat in silence for a minute or two before he inquired, "…So…that Alfred guy's been taking pretty good care of you, huh?"

Blushing at the mention of his name, Matthew nodded shyly. Toris took this into account, asking, "…Are you together?"

"…I'm not sure," he answered truthfully, his face reddening even more. "I-I really like him…and I think he feels the same…but we haven't made anything…official, I guess."

"I think you should go for it." Smiling, he continued, "I think he really cares about you. I guess something good did come out of this whole mess."

"…What about you?" Matt asked. "You and, um…"

"Feliks?"

"Yes, um…"

"Him?"

"Yeah."

Toris chuckled, a blush rising on his cheeks. "Yeah, Feliks really is one of a kind. He's a little overwhelming sometimes, but I think we could have a relationship. I'm staying at his apartment for now, so who knows?"

The Canadian grinned, happy for his friend. How much he'd missed sharing the little things with him. "So how old is he?"

"Nineteen, like me."

"And he has his own apartment. So what does Feliks do for a living?"

He watched as Toris sighed, apprehensively fiddling with his brown locks. "…Well, basically…he's in the same boat as us, but by his own choice."

Matthew averted his eyes, emitting a soft "Oh." He knew what that meant, and it always distressed him to wonder how anyone could choose the life they'd been thrown into.

"…There's something you have to understand," Toris explained, lacing his fingers together. "Feliks grew up in a homophobic household, so when he was…found out, well, you can imagine the reaction his family had. They threw him to the curb, so for a while now, he's been working the streets. …He was so hurt; after so much time spent in that house being told how 'worthless' gays are…it really took a toll on him. He told me that…being a prostitute makes him feel loved, like people want him…accept him."

Matt gazed at his friend forlornly, seeing where Feliks was coming from. His own…his own had been fairly homophobic; something Matt had always thought might have contributed to his sale to the ring, aside from trying to resolve their debt. Sure, he'd announced that he was gay, but that man had always seen right through him in all other cases.

"Matt," Toris addressed him, his tone apprehensive, "I know…we promised to start life over together…but…"

The Canadian had known this would come up, for if Toris hadn't brought it up, he would've himself.

"…I need to stay with Feliks. There's so much brokenness in him…I want to fix it."

"I understand completely," Matthew consented, smiling a peaceful, sad smile. "In my case…I don't think I could leave Al at this point. …Things just aren't the same as they were when we set off."

"Hey, even though things have changed, I'm always going to be here for you," Toris reassured him, pulling his friend into a hug, "and I know you're always going to be here for me."

For a few minutes, they simply embraced, finding comfort in each other's presence. "…We should probably go back to the others now," Matthew suggested.

"Right."

"And you should probably put your shirt back on."

"Yeah, that might be good."

**. . .**

"Status report?"

"They found Toris. He and Matthew are inside the Kirklands' house right now. The father hasn't come home yet, but Alfred and his friends are there, along with someone else I'm guessing came with Toris. Any plans?"

"Do not try anything yet; there are too many witnesses. When Toris leaves, follow him and find out his current address. He has to be staying somewhere, likely with the other person you mentioned. I will drive down to Jersey tonight. We will plan the recapture when I get there."

"Roger that."

Ivan closed his phone, satisfied with the report. "Eduard," he addressed his subordinate, "we are enacting the second phase. Stay here with Natalia and help control the business while I'm gone."

"Yes sir."

"Oh, and Eduard?"

"Yes?"

His violet eyes bore into the man like a bitter blizzard as his chilled lips curled into a childlike smile, threatening, "If you let any more of my pets escape, I will kill you, da?"

"A-Affirmative," Eduard stuttered, his body frozen stiff by the Russian's words. It wasn't like he had a choice…

"I am glad you understand." Ivan grabbed his pre-packed suitcase and climbed outside the window onto the balcony. Making his way down the metal stairs in the back of the hotel, he fished for the paper with the Kirkland address in his coat pocket. He would have to get a cab since Ismael took the van in his drive to the town.

The Russian flagged down a taxi, stepping into the backseat. Thanks to his height, he ended up hitting his head against the low ceiling, messing up his dulled beige hair.

"Where to?" the cab driver asked grudgingly, a single brown curl peeking out from under his hat.

The strange passenger held out a piece of paper to him with his gloved fingers. What was wrong with this guy? It was only September, yet the man was dressed for winter, wearing a long trench coat and a bulky scarf.

Aggravated, the Italian snatched the paper from those fingers, shouting "What?" when he read the address. "New Jersey? That's an hour away! I'm not fucking going that far!"

"I will pay you."

"I don't care how much you fucking pay me! There's no goddamn way I'm driving all the way down to-"

"You _will_ take me there," Ivan demanded, his glacial tone melding with the disturbed smile that graced his lips. He looked to the driver's ID in the front of the cab. "Lovino Vargas, is it? I must inform you that if you do not take me there, I will be forced to call upon my…friends in higher places, so to speak. You would not like a bullet to the head, da?"

Lovino gaped at him, the man's coercion causing him to quiver. Something was _very_ wrong about this guy, evident in the cold way he spoke, as if he lived off the terror he instilled in others. "…Jersey it is," he conceded, pushing on the gas pedal.

Ivan smiled to himself, content as the cab drove off to his destination.

_Let the games begin. _


	11. Chapter 11

**(A/N: I can't even explain to you guys how much I wanted to cry while writing this chapter. I had "Run" by **_**Snow Patrol **_**on repeat practically the whole time. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this installment, and I'll see you all next week!)**

**CHAPTER XI**

Matthew waved Toris goodbye for the night, the Lithuanian leaving with Feliks after a hearty celebration. The friends had spent hours partying, popping sodas and pizza and just enjoying life. Elizaveta and Gilbert had to leave early, so there had only been four of them for the rest of the evening. It was past nine at this point, and the two figured it was time to head home.

Closing the door, the Canadian looked to Alfred, sprawled out on the couch with a blanket lazily thrown over him. He was surprisingly tired, not that Matthew wasn't. After all, it had been a long and eventful day. The boy gazed fervidly at the fire in the hearth before slowly walking toward the couch. With hesitation, Matt poked the other's shoulder, catching his attention. "Sorry, can you move over a bit?"

"Huh?" Al groggily mumbled. "Oh, oh sure." He sat up on the sofa and scooted over to make room. His friend sat down, sharing the blanket with Alfred as he gripped his knees in apprehension. Matt knew that the other was tired, but he wanted to get this off his chest before morning came.

"S-So…" he began, incredibly nervous, "we found Toris."

Alfred felt the words pierce his heart, his mind now fully awake. How much he'd dreaded this conversation, but it was bound to come up eventually. His aching spirit begged him to defer it, a request he wished he could grant, but knew he couldn't. He would just have to be strong and prepare himself for the separation that would come as a result of this reunion, ironically enough.

"…I know that you- you made a deal with your dad about…this…about what would happen when we found Toris."

"Y-Yeah," Al replied weakly, his determination already fleeting, "we did."

"I'm sorry, but…I can't go through with it."

The American's eyes widened at the revelation, unsure if he had heard the boy right. He stared at Matthew, who was uneasily wringing his hands, focused on the floor. "E-Even if Toris wasn't going to stay with Feliks, I- I just can't leave. I-I…I care about you t-too much. I don't- don't know if it's…l-love, but it's so- so strong and I can't just…ignore it. I don't want to ever l-leave you-"

"I don't want you to leave either," Al declared, the words bursting from his mouth before he could even think. This time, Matthew looked to him, then to his hand as the other entwined their fingers. "…Wh-When I said that you could start life over w-with me, I-I meant it. I-I argued so hard with Dad to let you stay when you decided to stop looking for Toris. I mean it- it wasn't like he was going to throw you out; it's just he didn't know what to do, and everything just felt so crazy and… The point is…I l-love you, Matt, and I want you to stay."

Matthew gazed at him, the one he'd craved now belonging to him. His heart let itself be vulnerable, and he pondered how it'd once feared Alfred, afraid of his mere open touch. Now, that fear had disappeared and been replaced with trusting love as he inched forward. Alfred followed suit, mirroring the other in edging closer. Ever so slowly, their lips brushed together in a feathery kiss, soon leading into something much deeper.

The Canadian wrapped his arms around Alfred's neck, taking control in the lip work. He was more experienced, although it burned him to think of why that was, so he pushed the thought away and focused on his bliss.

As the two became more and more enraptured in the caress of their lips, Matthew felt his sexual withdrawal coming back to overtake him. He couldn't ignore the heat that struck him, but his mind called out, warning him not to force himself onto the other. It was so hard not to just start grinding against him.

At the same time, Alfred was telling himself the same thing, finding it more difficult to resist the Canadian with each second that passed. His own form of the heat was enveloping him, fueled by his passion for Matthew.

When the two finally pulled their lips away, they were both out of breath, panting hard. A trembling hand placed itself on Alfred's thigh, its owner's face flushed and amorous. "I…" Matthew began, his breath labored, "I don't think I can- can handle the…tension between us."

"I don't think I…I can either," Alfred agreed breathlessly, his arms around the other's waist.

Fixing their eyes on at each other, the two acknowledged their mutual desire.

"…I've never b-been with someone," Alfred confessed, averting his eyes nervously. He glanced back to the boy, who smiled sadly at him. "What is it?"

"…I like that," Matt explained. "You're so…pure."

"Matt," Al addressed him, lightly kissing his lips, "you're pure. Your heart is so _pure_, and that's what matters."

Matthew took in the words, captivated by Alfred's sincere voice. Resting his head in the crook of the American's neck, he began to tug off his lover's jacket.

"D-Do we need…protection and, uh, lube?" Al asked, blushing profusely as he helped pull his wrists out the sleeves.

"…He, he always made sure the clients were clean and used a condom, and he had us regularly tested just in case. But…then…those guys who…raped me…"

"But that was like, a month and a half ago, right? Don't you think if you caught anything it would've shown up by now? And didn't Dad take you to get tested after we…found out, and you were clean?"

"I…I know, but…I'd still feel better if you used protection, just to be safe. Besides, it's just so much cleaner since the…stuff doesn't…get everywhere and…stuff, so get one for me, too. And, uh, we should use lube so that it's not so…rough."

"R-Right," Al agreed, not wanting to hurt his lover.

"Do you have anything?"

Taking a second to think, Alfred replied, "I don't, but my dad might. I don't really know how far he is in his relationship with Francis. I can check, and if not, I could try and find my keys to run to the store. But, um, I, augh." It was so difficult to speak to him without getting his tongue twisted.

"What?" the Canadian inquired, confused as to what the other was getting at.

"It's just…I know that I want to do this, but…are you sure you want to? I mean, with…you know…your past…"

Matthew smiled sweetly, his history receding from his mind. It was strange to him, too: somehow, he felt confident in this; in control of how the past would affect him. Hours before, it had haunted him with pain. But now he felt strength, as if he wouldn't let his previous use get the better of him.

He answered with something he'd never felt in any instance involving sex before: "I want this."

"O-Okay," Alfred affirmed it, nodding his head as he got up from the sofa to search for supplies. Trotting up the stairs and down the hallway, he entered his father's room, trying to figure out where he would put such materials, and if he even _had_ any. _Maybe they're in the bathroom_, he thought, making his way onto the tiled floor. The American ransacked his dad's drawers, finding a suspicious black bag. He pulled the zipper open, revealing a plentiful amount of condoms and bottles of lubricant.

A bout of shock hit him, acknowledging that his dad _was_ sleeping with someone, and it could only be one person. "Well," Al spoke to himself as he picked out two condoms, "they don't call it the 'French letter' for nothing." After also taking a lube bottle, he zipped the bag back up and lazily threw it into his father's drawer, closing them all.

On his way down, Alfred turned off every light, including those on the first level, so that the only source of luminosity was the crackling fireplace. That was only if you didn't count the moon, but he drew every curtain to shroud their session from its radiance. He climbed back onto the couch, where Matthew was waiting patiently. "Dad to the rescue," Al joked, laying out the supplies on the side. Inside though, he was shaking with the knowledge of what they were going to do, having trouble believing a situation that seemed so surreal.

"Speaking of your dad, did he ever say when he'd be back?"

"He just said late. He'd call if he was coming home now or before ten, so we have time."

"…We'll probably be too tired to get up afterward. Will he see us?"

"I bet he'll be too tired to notice, and the fire should be out by then."

"Then…" the Canadian began, lying back on the sofa, "shall we start life over?"

Alfred nodded, leaning over Matt as he asserted, "Let's be recalled to life."

"Ah, you've been reading Dickens."

"_A Tale of Two Cities_. I had to read it during freshman year."

The boy smiled up at him with warm affection. "…Recalled to life…I like that expression."

Matthew raised him arms, letting Alfred tug off his sweatshirt for him, dragging the t-shirt up with it. He pulled off his lover's shirt in return, revealing the slightly toned torso. Both were only in their jeans, and Matthew suggestively raised his spread hips off the couch. "You can t-take them off," he offered, wanting Alfred's hands all over him.

Al obliged, his fingers fumbling with the zipper as the other let out a satisfied sigh when he finally undid it. Awkwardly pulling off the jeans, his mind took delight in the arousal perking up from his lover's boxers.

Taking one of Matthew's hands, Al led it to his own jeans, groaning when his own erection was released from the denim constraints. Fingers teased each other's waistbands, pulled down at nearly the same rate so that they were fully exposed. The last time Alfred had seen the other naked was the first day they met, when he'd cleansed his soiled skin. That simple awareness caused the American to shudder slightly, with Matthew gripping his hand and whispering calming words.

Finding stability in his lover's voice, Alfred smoothed his trembling hands across Matthew's chest, brushing over his nipples. He occasionally tweaked the pink buds, addicted to the Canadian's quiet squeaks as the pinches sent electric jolts down his spine.

In a daring move, Al bent down to Matt's neck, kissing and putting pressure on the tender skin. He was rewarded with delectable whimpers.

"_Aaaaahn_, Alfred," Matt moaned, finally understanding why they were called love marks as the American suckled his neckline. "_Ah_, A-Alfred…"

The sound of his name on Matthew's lips was driving him over the edge, and he moved down to ravage his collarbone. Shifting beneath him, Matt caused their cocks to rub together, both groaning at the contact.

"A-Al," the Canadian breathed, "y-you can start."

"St-Start?"

"You know, pr-preparing me."

"O-Oh, right," Alfred stated, his heart pounding uneasily. As he reached for the bottle of lubricant, he realized in dismay that he didn't really know how to prepare him.

The expression on his face must have explained it all, for Matthew said, "Here, let me show you." Taking the bottle from him, Matt squeezed some gel onto his fingers, kneading them together.

Alfred observed intensely as his lover circled around his anus for a few seconds before slowly pushing his index finger in. "_Unh_," Matthew grunted softly as he pressed inside as far as he could. After a month and a half without any use, his hole was pretty tight, but it would loosen up soon. "Y-You see," he explained, "you just…push it in and wait for me to get used to it. When I'm ready, you put in another one and start stretching me out. Usually you put in three fingers and then…the real deal. Okay?"

"Y-Yeah," Al answered, watching anxiously as the other pulled out his finger and handed him the lube. In the back of his mind, he realized fingering Matthew could pass any infections on to him, but again, the boy had been tested and proved clean. The Canadian was just paranoid, not that it was necessarily bad to be, but common sense was the predominant reasoning in this setting.

He imitated Matthew in warming up the gel between his fingers before cautiously pushing one in, surprised by the tautness. "Y-You okay?" he asked, looking at the mild discomfort on his lover's face.

"I-I'm fine," Matt murmured, nodding his head with closed eyes. "Just let me get u-used to it."

They waited about half a minute, while Matthew breathed deeply as the dull ache gradually became pleasurable. "O-Okay, p-put another in."

Al obliged, carefully pushing his middle finger inside as the Canadian mewled. After waiting a little, he started moving his digits apart, earning a sharp gasp from the boy. Matthew moaned as the fingers stretched his entrance, the feeling pleasant for once in his life. Anxious, Alfred inserted his third finger, causing his lover to utter a low, guttural groan.

"_Ahhhn_, _ah_, A-Al, _ahhh_." The boy started rocking against the digits, yearning to start the real work. Al shakily pulled them out, to which Matthew complained, and groped around to find the condoms. When he grasped them, he brought one to his mouth, deftly tearing off the wrapper with his teeth. Thanks to health class, he actually knew how to do this part.

He positioned the ring over Matthew's cock, pulling it down carefully to unravel the latex sheath. After pinching the tip so that it would collect his semen, Al ran his hand over the erection as Matt mewled in delight at the gentle strokes. In return, he sat up and took the other condom to put on his lover. With the latex gliding down Al's arousal, the American moaned, the feeling as if someone was wrapping his dick in a second skin.

As Matthew fondled him while haphazardly slathering on the lubricant, he inquired, "M-Matt, how do you, _unhhh_, want to d-do it?"

In response, the Canadian climbed onto his lover's lap, positioning himself above Alfred's cock. He figured it'd be easier on Al if he took control, since he was the one with experience. "R-Ready?" Matt asked.

Alfred nodded jerkily, mentally preparing himself for what was to come. Within seconds, his dick was enveloped in the tight warmth of his lover's ass, and he groaned at the hole contracting around him.

The moment Matthew was entered, panic overtook him, pain shooting up his spine and reminding him of all the agony he'd endured from being used. Overwhelmed, he began to cry, shaking uncontrollably as he dug his fingernails into Al's back. This was the exact opposite of what he'd wanted to experience in his first time with Alfred. Now, all he could focus on were the searing memories as he wept, his trembling legs wrapped tightly around his lover's torso.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so _sorry_," Alfred apologized, running fingers through the sobbing boy's hair and making soothing circles in his back. "I-It must really hurt. I'm so sorry. I-I'll take it out if you want."

Matthew snapped back to reality, his watery violet eyes wide as he realized Al was concerned about him; worried he was hurting him. He found his resolve restored in the knowledge that Alfred loved him and would never want to harm him.

"N-No," Matt managed to make out through his sniffling, "i-its okay. It- It's just reminding me of b-back then. B-But I'm okay."

The American sighed in relief, asking, "S-So it doesn't hurt?"

"J-Just a little," Matt admitted, rubbing his eyes, "but I can h-handle it. Just give me s-some time."

Al let him adjust to the member inside of him, whispering words of love and massaging him. It was hard to ignore the tightness around his cock, but he was more concerned about Matthew's wellbeing.

After a few minutes, the Canadian lifted his head off of his lover's shoulder, wiping away the last of his tears. "O-Okay," he asserted, "l-let's start."

"Are you sure?" Al asked, not wanting to push him.

"Y-Yeah," Matt answered, starting a slow rock on Al's erection.

"_Ahhhh_, M-Matt- _ahhn_," the American sighed lustfully at the rhythm and the hole clenching around his dick. He kept the pace with his pelvis, afraid to speed it up.

"I-I'm no- _ohhhh_ - n-not fra-fragile, A-Al- _ahhhhn_," Matthew moaned in the cadence of their hips. "Y-You can go f-f-faster- _ahhh_!"

Wanting to please his lover, Alfred complied, noticing his own sounds were getter louder as their tempo increased. He began thrusting into Matthew over and over to milk out those shameless moans, the other's cock repeatedly brushing against his stomach.

"_Ohhh_, _ohhhhh_, A-Alfred, Al- _AH_!"

Matthew saw stars, realizing his lover had hit his prostate. In all the times before that he'd been rammed there, there was only intense pain, but now it filled him with wanton pleasure. "A-Al, a-again!" he demanded, unable to stop the smile erupting onto his face. Submitting to his love's desire, Alfred thrust again and again, the cries of "Again!" filling the air every time. Matthew felt tears spring to his eyes, but they were of ecstasy. _This_ was lovemaking; not sex or rape, but _love_.

The two's sounds increased with their rhythm, practically slapping their skin together in the now erratic thrusts. Alfred stroked his lover's length fervently as he wanted them to peak together. Never before had he felt so close to someone; so in love.

"A-Al!

"M-Matt!"

Waves of fleeting warmth washed over them, collecting in their abdomens until they came, their climactic cries within seconds of each other.

Out of breath and energy, they collapsed onto the couch, holding each other as their racing hearts calmed. Alfred pulled out of his lover, liking the strange squelching noise the movement made. He reached for a tissue, taking the condom off of his cock and wiping the cum off of his tip. Matthew imitated him, lazily throwing their used supplies on the floor.

They clung to each other, and Al pulled the light blanket over them. He turned on his side to face his lover, smiling tiredly in the afterglow. "Hey, Matt?"

"Hm?"

"Welcome to your new life."

Matthew grinned, cuddling close as they drifted off to sleep, the fire waning in the hearth until only dying embers remained.

Two men, two nationalities, two definitions of purity; one life begun anew.


	12. Chapter 12

**CHAPTER XII**

It was seven in the morning, the sun penetrating the curtains as Matthew woke to the sleeping face of the boy beside him. There was a faint rumbling sound coming from somewhere, likely what had roused him from his slumber, but it soon stopped. Still groggy, he rose from the sofa, being careful not to wake Alfred with his movements. A dull ache was beginning in his backside, and he blushed mildly as he remembered the reason why it hurt.

Smiling seductively to himself, Matthew pulled on his boxers and unzipped jeans, thinking of how his lover had done just the opposite the night before. That was right: Alfred was his _lover_ now. The simple concept was enough to make his heart swell inside his chest.

He bent down to pick up the used condoms and tissues on the floor, kicking the lube bottle under the couch. Alfred's father had to be sleeping upstairs, so there wasn't any way to sneak it up there at the moment. Feeling a slight discomfort as he strolled quietly into the kitchen, Matt dropped the materials into the trash can.

Just when the Canadian was about to turn around to continue getting dressed, he heard soft thuds emanating from somewhere nearby, but not inside the house. The door to the garage suddenly budged open, and Matthew recoiled once he realized it was Alfred's dad tiptoeing into the house.

Arthur jumped when he saw the boy standing there, clamping a hand to his chest in an attempt to calm himself. "Matthew, you gave me a fright! What are you…?"

His voice trailed off as he took in the sight before him, and Matthew averted his eyes in shame. With the unzipped jeans almost sliding off his hips, and the prominent love marks on his neck, it was obvious what had happened. This was definitely not how he wanted to present himself in front of his lover's father.

After a few minutes of awkward silence, Arthur cleared his throat and spoke. "…O-Okay, let us…sit at the counter and you can…explain this all to me."

Matthew simply nodded, making his way over to the side of the counter. Hyperconscious of the twinge in his backside as he walked, the Canadian was unable to stifle a pained groan when he sat down. The situation was mortifying, and he trembled uncomfortably under the scrutiny of those green eyes.

Glancing behind the boy to his son sleeping soundly on the couch, Arthur sighed, running fingers through his tousled blonde hair. It was then Matt realized the man looked almost as disheveled as himself, and the question arose in his mind.

"All right," the Brit began, "where do you want to begin?"

"…I thought you came home last night."

"O-Oh…I…w-work went later than I expected," the man sputtered, "so, since I didn't want to wake you guys up, I…spent the night at…Francis's place."

His unkempt appearance suddenly made sense, and Arthur caught the knowing look on the boy's face. "…Now's not the time for that, Matthew. I want you to tell me what happened."

"M-Mr. Kirkland-"

"Please, just…just call me Arthur."

A pang of sorrow hit the boy as he reminisced about the days back at the ring. The first-name basis they operated on…he didn't want to associate that with anyone else in a higher authority.

"W-With all due respect, M-Mr. Kirkland," Matthew addressed him, trying to fight back the tears, "I-I'd prefer not to refer to you by that."

Seeing the hurt in the boy's violet eyes, Arthur asserted, "I just want you to feel like you can talk to me about…this. I have a pretty good idea of what's going on, but I want to hear it from your mouth."

"O-Okay, um…" Matt began, focusing his eyes on the countertop, "well, we…we found Toris."

Arthur's eyes widened in shock. "You're kidding me."

"N-No. Al and Gil went to the farmer's market and…and they ran into him and brought him back here. We were celebrating last night-"

"We?"  
"Oh, uh, me, Al, Eliz, Gil, Toris, and a friend Toris made, Feliks. That's…that's why there's all those empty pizza boxes out in the garage.

"Yeah, I was wondering about those."

"So…I talked with Toris, and…he wanted to stay with Feliks. And you know, it's not like we had anywhere to go, anyway. I thought it was a good idea, so…that's his part of the plan."

"And what about you, now?"

Matthew's face flushed deeper, and he stuttered, "Wh-When everyone l-left, I talked about it with A-Al, and I told him th-that even if T-Toris hadn't decided th-that, I-I wanted to stay h-here. …A-And then we…we…he recalled me to life."

Furrowing his ample eyebrows, Arthur inquired, "…Is that what they call it now?"

"N-No," Matthew answered. "J-Just us…in my c-case."

"…I don't understand. 'Recalled to life'? Isn't that from one of Dickens' works?"

"Yeah, _A Tale of Two Cities_. I-It's because…before I got here…Toris and I said we were going to start life over. But then…all of this happened, and Al said he would start life over with me. …L-Last night just made it official. I don't…really know how to explain it but…I…for so long…I felt numb; dead…untouchable. …But now I'm alive."

"Matthew…"

"This was the first time…I didn't feel used. This was the first time I felt…loved."

Arthur looked again to his son asleep on the sofa. A kind chuckle arose from his lips, and the Brit declared, "He definitely loves you. I know that."

The boy watched attentively as the man fished something out of his pocket. "Here," Arthur said, handing over a key ring.

Perplexed, Matthew picked up the ring, noting the single key and a plastic frame of some sort. "…What?"

"It's your own key to the house," Arthur explained as the Canadian's eyes dilated in surprise. "I'd been thinking about it for a while now, and I decided to go through with it. That's what my extra work was last night. Francis is actually…really good at making copies of keys. So, I swiped Al's key ring the other day and brought it to him after work. I planned to be back earlier, but…there were so many keys, and…well, things didn't go as I…planned, so to speak."

Matthew nodded, faintly taking in the words as he stared at the key ring. "Wh-What's the plastic thing f-for?"

"Oh, think of it like a clear locket. You can take a picture, like one from a photo booth, and fit it in there. In fact, I got one for Al, too." He pulled another set of keys out of his pocket and laid them out on the counter.

Still insensitive to anything but the significance of the metal in his hand, Matt asked, "…You're letting me stay? Permanent residence?"

"Yes," the Brit confirmed, smiling peacefully. "You're practically part of the family now. I doubt we could get by without you; I know Al couldn't. …I mean, let's face it: my cooking is terrible."

The two laughed loudly, unaware that they were disrupting Alfred's sleep. He groaned a bit, tossing on the couch until he finally complained, "Augh…why are you guys laughing so early in the morning?"

They turned their attention to Alfred as he sat up, rubbing at his bleary eyes. When he could see and survey the scene before him, a confused look crept onto his face. His father was sitting across from Matthew, who was half-naked…and Al was entirely naked, with only the blanket to cover him. "…Um, what'd I miss?"

"W-Well," Matt informed him, "your dad knows about, um, last night, and he's letting me stay here."

"Permanently?"

"Yeah."

"Oh my god, thank you!" Alfred shouted, jumping off the sofa to hug his dad to death, dragging the blanket with him. "Thank you, Dad, thank you so much!"

"Alfred!"

"What?"

"Put some clothes on," Arthur commanded.

"…Right…" the American agreed, smiling sheepishly as he pulled the blanket in front of him. He glanced to Matthew, who quickly diverted his eyes from his lover's body, cheeks flushed as he was caught red-handed. "…Hey, Dad?"

"Yes?"

"I guess I'm not a virgin anymore, huh?" Alfred put it bluntly. His father slapped a hand to his forehead as Matt fell victim to another fit of hysterics.

"…You know," the Brit began as he rubbed his temples, "most parents would punish their kid for saying something like that, but I'm going to let it slide."

"Well, at least we used protection. Don't most parents like that?"

"Matthew's clean and he can't get pregnant."

"Well, then be happy we didn't get our stuff all over the couch."

"Al…" Matthew complained, hiding his face in his hands.

"Wait, just where the bloody hell did you _get_ protection?" his father inquired, putting two and two together when Al smiled guiltily. "…You went through mine."

"I guess being gay really _does_ run in the family," Alfred declared, patting his father on the back as Matt doubled over again.

"Ha- ow, _ow_," the Canadian griped, the dull ache in his backside intensified by his laughter.

"Ah, Matt, I'm sorry," Al apologized. "I really…hurt you, huh?"

"It's going to hurt no matter what, but…thanks for using the…lube. Otherwise, it'd be much worse; trust me."

"Let me find something to soothe that," Arthur suggested, going to the cabinets to look for pills or a salve to relieve the pain.

"You _would _have something for that, wouldn't you, Dad?" Al taunted him. "After all, you must use it a lot in your relationship with Francis."

"Alfred, you are treading on _very _thin ice."

"I'm just saying, I want to know what's going on between my dad and my future dad. …Wait, am I allowed to have two Dads?"

"Alfred-"

"Oh my god, does this make Francis my mom? He has a beard! Can't you be the Mom? No wait, your cooking sucks. But he has a _beard_!"

Bursting into another fit from the ridiculous conversation Alfred was having with himself, Matt pleaded, "O-Okay, please, no more. Ow."

**. . .**

"_Alejandro, __¿__por qu__é__ sales? __¡__Eres el amor de mi vida!_"

"_Lo siento, pero no estoy enamorado de ti._"

"_¿__Por qu__é__?_"

"_Hay otra persona._"

"_¡__No es verdad!_"

"Why do Spanish soap operas even exist?" Matthew asked himself as he flipped through the channels. It was near noon on a school day, and Alfred's dad was at work, so the Canadian was all alone with only the television to accompany him. Already, he had cleaned the house, washed dishes, made the beds, done laundry, and anything else he could do. The boy was completely bored, and Toris was likely off somewhere with Feliks.

He sighed, thinking that he could always write in his journal, although nothing remarkably noteworthy had happened since Alfred and he had made love a few days ago. His heart fluttered whenever he reminisced about that night, and he pulled the key ring out of his pocket to gaze at the picture within the plastic frame. Inside was a copy of a photo they had taken in one of those photo booths, with Matthew blushing as his boyfriend kissed his cheek.

It was still so hard to believe that he was a permanent resident of the household. For sure, he'd thought Mr. Kirkland would want to banish him for sleeping with his son, but the man seemed to understand the passion between the young lovers. Fingers gracing the casing, he wished Alfred was home so they could exchange kisses, kisses all over their bodies…

Matthew shook his head, giving himself a mental slap to the brain. God knew it wasn't good for him to get caught up in such thoughts when he wouldn't be able to get relief for several hours. Besides, the boy had been trying to fight the sex-centered side of him, but nothing could stop his prick from jutting out every time he saw that confident, beautiful face…

"Ah, shit," he groused, now completely aroused. "Why do I do this to myself?" In an attempt to alleviate the discomfort, Matt laid back on the sofa and moved his hips around, as if to find a blind spot in the jeans for his erection to fit. Instead, all it did was create friction, and he felt ready to just rip open the zipper and jerk-off.

The phone rang suddenly, and Matthew groaned, dragging himself off the couch to answer it. "K-Kirkland residence."

"Hello, Metyu."

All of the blood in his veins ran cold as the voice crept under his skin, freezing the nerves of his soul. Matthew's eyes widened as he realized in horror that no one else was home…and _he_ was calling.

"I-I-Ivan…"

"I am glad you still remember me, dear Metyu," the Russian stated, twirling a lock of his beige hair like a teenage girl chatting with her best friend. "It was not nice of you to leave without a goodbye. It was not nice of Toris either."

"H-How did you-?"

"You have forgotten about my…friends in higher places? I am able to twist the law to my demands."

"…H-How much d-do you kn-know?"

"Let us see…I know that you are staying at the Kirkland address. I know that you have met up with Toris. I know that you are in love with that American boy…ah, what was his name…Alfred Kirkland. For that, I will have to reprogram you when I bring you back to the ring."

Tears welled up behind those violet eyes, but Matthew refused to let them fall. "…W-Why-?"

"You did not think I would just let you go, da? The business needs you; _both_ of you."

With his teeth chattering underneath his numbed lips, Matthew asked, "…W-Why T-T-Toris? He's d-d-damaged."

"It is true. I would not profit well from him in his condition, so…I will find another use for him. More _tests_, if you will."

The Canadian simply stood there, trembling uncontrollably under the intimidation of the man's authority. He refused to speak, fearing what would follow.

"Metyu, you do understand why I am making this call, do you not?" Ivan's tone turned chillingly threatening as he continued, "If you do not come quietly, I may have to take…precautionary actions against your beloved 'family'."

"N-No!" Matt shouted, gripping the phone tighter than ever with clammy hands. Tears finally escaped out of the corners of his eyes, streaming down his cheeks as he shook. "N-No, pl-please don't…_hic_…d-don't…"

"Metyu, are you crying?" Ivan chuckled cruelly, shaking his head back and forth. "You have gone soft. While the sound is absolutely delightful, I will have to fix that, da?"

"D-Do what you- what you want w-with me!" Matthew cried. "But pl-please…l-leave them a-a-alone!"

"There is no need to yell. As I have said, come quietly and I will not harm them."

Staring at the key ring in his hand, with the picture of his boyfriend and him, the Canadian asked, "…C-Can I leave a-a note?"

"How strange…Toris requested the same thing. I have made a note for you to leave. You may sign your name at the end if you wish. Just come outside."

It was then that Matthew realized the Russian was outside his house the whole time. Glancing cautiously to the paneled glass windows bordering the front door, he gasped and dropped the phone once he recognized the face peering in. Ivan waved to him, his own violet eyes piercing the boy like a thousand icicles.

Taking a deep breath, Matt prepared himself for what lay ahead, trying to numb his senses as his feet walked instinctively to the door. Trembling hands turned the key into the lock and thrust the door open.

"Good boy," Ivan mocked as the boy emerged from the house, patting his head as the door closed. "Here is the note, and here is a pen. Do not think you will get away with writing anything other than your name."

The Canadian nodded sullenly, reading over the note and signing it "Love, Matthew" before sliding it under the door. Locking the house behind him, the boy stared forlornly at the key ring.

"Is something wrong?" the Russian asked, noting the pitiful expression on his pet's face.

"…If I leave the key here, someone might break in."

In response, Ivan tore the key from the ring, tossing the metal hoop onto the porch steps. The man grabbed his pet's arm and walked toward the road, where a familiar van was parked. On the way, he dropped the key down the storm drain. "There you go," he stated, pulling the vehicle's door open.

Inside was Toris, looking just as miserable as his friend. At the sight of him, the Canadian scrambled in and embraced him, knowing that, once again, they were in the same boat.

"Hello, Matthew," Ismael greeted him from the driver's seat. He had always liked the boy, though the feeling was never returned.

"…H-Hello, Ismael." How he hated the overwhelming scent of Cuban cigars that wafted from the man. Hell, how he hated the _man_ himself.

"So," Ivan began, "shall we take a few seconds to admire this neighborhood? This will be the last time you two will ever see it."

When Matthew murmured something as he gazed to the house, the Russian asked, "I am sorry. What did you say?"

Turning his head to face his owner, Matt replied, "…I said nothing."

The Russian smiled with false kindness, deciding to let it slide. "We are ready to leave."

"To New York," Ismael declared, pressing down on the gas pedal.

_Alfred_, Matthew thought as he watched what had been his home slip out of sight forever, _thank you for the new life while it lasted_.

* * *

**(A/N: My friend informed me that the Romanization of the Russian translation of "Matthew" is "Metyu". You learn something new every day. Also, I apologize if my Spanish was incorrect.)**

Paraphrased Translations**:**

_Alejandro, __¿__por qu__é__ sales? __¡__Eres el amor de mi vida!_ - Alejandro, why are you leaving? You are the love of my life!

_Lo siento, pero no estoy enamorado de ti._ - I'm sorry, but I don't love you.

_¿__Por qu__é__?_ - Why?

_Hay otra persona._ - There's someone else.

_¡__No es verdad!_ - It's not true!


	13. Chapter 13

**CHAPTER XIII**

How long had they been driving for, an hour? Time was neither slow nor fast for Matthew as he sat in the backseat with Toris. At one point, Ismael had pulled out a cigar, and the secondhand smoke burned his throat just from breathing the air. Whether it was the air conditioning or Ivan's presence, the temperature was cold, and they shivered, huddling close to each other.

Matthew gazed out the window and realized they were in New York City, with all of its flashing lights and attractions. To him, it only meant he was closer to walking the streets again, and it was a thought he had to shun from his mind. It would take awhile to get his apathetic exterior up and running again after being in disrepair for a month and a half.

As they drew closer to their destination, the Canadian recognized more and more establishments, and his heart seared. Back to the days of use and-

…And they just sped right past the hotel.

"Ismael, what's going on?" Matt asked, puzzled.

"What do you mean?"

"Why didn't you stop? The hotel's back there."

"That's not where we're going," Ismael answered nonchalantly.

His confusion grew until he felt Toris's hand in his, shaking rather violently. When he looked to the Lithuanian, he gasped loudly as he saw Toris was convulsing, his eyes wide open and focused on the floor of the van. "Toris, what's wrong?"

"W-W-W-" he stuttered, his lips too unfeeling to form sounds, "W-We're g-going _there_…"

"'There'?"

"I-I-Ivan's h-house…"

Matthew froze, an intense fear taking over. He knew the meaning of that: they were going to be brutally punished. Not that he shouldn't have expected such a penalty, as they had run away from the ring, but the mere thought of what awaited them…the scars on Toris's back…he'd be lying if he said he wasn't terrified.

With minor traffic problems, Ismael pulled into a secluded Queens neighborhood within twenty minutes. Matthew let his eyes wander along the streets, and he noticed how sparsely spread apart the houses were. Some of them even appeared to be uninhabitable. When the van began to slow, Matthew looked out the window and saw the dwelling located on the corner of the block.

It was a colonial-style house, with layers of white overlapping each other on the outer walls. The gray-shingled roof was split, with part of it slanted over of the second level, the other section flat atop the first. Shaded by a small overhang to guard if from whatever sunlight it would receive, the front door looked anything but welcoming. A lonely steel fence surrounded the house, entangled with dead sunflowers drooping dreadfully over the railings and onto the sidewalk.

"Welcome home," Ivan stated as the Cuban turned off the ignition.

**. . .**

Alfred and Elizaveta got off the bus at their stop, along with several other students. The vehicle pulled away and the two friends walked in the direction of his house, the rest going the other way. Once they were around the corner, Eliz smiled and pulled her video camera out of her bag.

"Eliz, are you serious?" Al groused, knowing she was going to badger him about the previous weekend. "Don't you need to hang out with Gil or Rod or someone?"

"Gil's in detention and Rod's taking a make-up test. I want to know what happened on Saturday."

"I already told you: nothing happened."

"Please, I know you left out the good stuff. Everyone else is out of earshot, so this is the perfect opportunity." Focusing the lens on him, she continued, "So tell me, how did things _really_ go when you were alone with Matt?"

"We just sat around and talked; nothing special."

"Really? About what?"

"I told you: Matt said that Toris was staying with Feliks, and that he wanted to stay at my house, so I said yes."

"Well, didn't you need your dad's permission? After all, he's the one that owns the house."

"Yeah, I know."

"Well, wasn't he coming home late? When did he actually get home?"

"I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know?" Elizaveta inquired, enjoying cornering her friend like this. She had him on the ropes; all he needed was a little pushing.

"I came downstairs in the morning, and Matt and my dad were already in the kitchen, sorting everything out. I don't know the exact time he got home."

"All right, well, the point is you _knew_ you had time because he wouldn't be home until very late."

"Eliz, would you just come out and say it?"

"Fine," she conceded, putting on her most complacent smile. "I wanna know who topped."

Blushing furiously, Alfred sputtered, "N-Nobody! I told you-"

"Al, give it up," she interrupted, zooming in on his flustered face. "I can see right through you, so don't even think of giving me more of this 'nothing happened' crap. Again, I'm asking you: who topped?"

Alfred sighed exasperatedly, stopping in his tracks. Knowing he was going to regret this, he asked, "…Define 'topped'."

"Y-You don't know what it means?" Eliz snickered.

"No, it's just…there's a situation where someone could be thought of being…on top, but he's the one, um, being…done."

When her mouth dropped open, the American groaned in frustration and continued walking. "So _that's_ how you guys did it?" Elizaveta asked as she followed him, the excitement prevalent in her voice.

"I never said that!"

"Oh, I see why you're denying everything. You don't want to admit that you bottomed."

"I did _not_ bottom!"

"You admit it!" Eliz shrieked, shooting her arm into the air in victory. "I knew it! I knew you had sex, and I _knew_ you topped!"

"Augh, _please_ don't shout things like that for everyone to hear. And if you knew that, why the hell did you ask me?"

"Hello, my documentary? It's better if it comes out of your mouth; not mine."

After giving his friend an irritated look, Alfred climbed the porch stairs. "Yeah, well now I have to explain to Matt why I let that get on tape and…" his voice trailed off as he glanced to his feet, one of them stepping on something. Curious, he moved his sneaker and his sky blue eyes widened. "…What's Matt's key ring doing here?"

"Huh?" Elizaveta asked, still filming as the boy looked confusedly at the metal hoop. "Hey, the key's missing."

Worry arising in the back of his mind, the American tried to open the front door, but it wouldn't budge. "It's still locked." He pulled out his own key ring and undid the lock, pushing the door open. Before Alfred could step inside, his eyes caught the sheet of paper abandoned on the floor.

"What's that?" Eliz inquired, looking over his shoulder at the typed note with a signature at the end.

_"Alfred, I am sorry for causing you so much trouble. Toris and I have decided to leave together. I only hope that you can go back to your normal life. Love, Matthew."_

"…Wh-What?" she uttered, her attention then stolen by the trembling fingers clenching the paper. "Al?"

He stormed inside, screaming, "_Matthew? Matthew!_"

"Al!" Elizaveta called after him, quickly shutting off her camera and closing the door behind her. She watched him run through the rooms shouting for his lover. At first, she thought he was enraged, but soon she caught a glimpse of his face.

How many words could she use to describe that look? Concern, devastation, on the verge of a mental breakdown…all of these perfectly delineated what she saw in his pained expression.

Finally, the Hungarian caught up to him, grabbing his arm in an attempt to stop him from darting all over the house. "Al!" she yelled at him, forcing his focus onto her. "Al, you have to calm down."

"…Wh-Why did he leave?" Alfred asked her, his voice quiet and wavering, like a child on the brink of tears. Elizaveta looked to him compassionately, guiding him to the sofa so he could sit down. Letting him cry on her shoulder, she rubbed his back soothingly, understanding how distraught the boy was.

"_Shhh_," she whispered, sympathetic with the hitched breath accommodating his sobs.

"I-I don't- I don't underst-stand…H-He said he'd stay…He- He said he- he _loved_ me, Eliz. Wh-Why? Why w-would he just u-u-up and g-go?"

The more she thought about it as she comforted Alfred, the less it made sense. It was completely unlike Matthew to do something like this, and the note…there was something so amiss about that letter.

Elizaveta gave him time to cry it out, and once he'd been reduced to sniffling, she took out her phone. "…Should we check in on Feliks? I wonder if he knows yet."

"W-We probably should," Alfred agreed, nodding his head as he wiped away his tears.

Hesitantly, she went through her contacts and called the Pole's home phone, making sure it was on speaker. The call went through after a few rings, with Feliks answering, "…H-Hello?"

"Feliks? This is Elizaveta. Remember Saturday?"

"L-Like, yeah," he replied, and she could tell from the occasional sniffles that he had to know.

"…I guess you got a note from Toris."

"H-How-?"

"We got one from Matthew," Eliz explained. "We just got home and that's when we found it."

"I, like, came b-back from sh-shopping, and he was…was g-gone. I'm t-totally confused, like seriously. R-Right before I l-left, we were all, 'See you soon', you know?"

"I-I know what you- you mean," Al empathized.

"…That's what makes this so strange," Eliz thought aloud. "And…just think about the notes."

"Wh-What about them?" the American asked.

"Besides the signature, the rest is typed. Don't you find that weird? Don't you think he'd just write the whole thing out with pen? Why bother going to the computer?"

"That's, like, t-totally weird," Feliks stated, looking at the letter left behind at his apartment. "Toris's n-note is, like, also typed, except where he wr-wrote his name."

"Are you serious?"

"S-Serious to the max. But, what's r-really weird is that…I can't believe I, like, just noticed this, but I don't have a computer. I totally can't afford one, even with what I get paid."

"So, what, they both came over here to print out these letters together?" Alfred tried to piece together. "That's so unnecessary."

"…Feliks, what does it say?" Elizaveta asked him.

"It says, '_Feliks, I am sorry for causing you so much trouble. Matthew and I have decided to leave together. I only hope that you can go back to your normal life. Love, Toris."_

"…That's exactly what this note says," Alfred informed them, baffled. "You just have to exchange the names."

"This doesn't make any sense at all," Eliz declared. "They go through all this effort of typing up the same note and printing it, only to sign their names at the end. Not only that, but don't you think they'd personalize their own notes? These notes are so…generic. Why is that?"

Alfred's eyes dilated, the blue irises instilled with fear as his friend realized he was quivering again. "Al, what's wrong?"

"…They're generic because they were written by the same person, and it's not either of them."

"Al?"

"The ring must have found them," he concluded, glancing to her with even more anguish than before.

"Al, you can't just jump to reckless assumptions like that-"

"It's not reckless!" he argued. "Wh-Whoever controls them must have written these to throw us off- God, this is just like those crime shows!"

"That's, like, totally worse…" Feliks construed, gripping his blonde locks.

"Alfred, I understand what you're saying, and your scenario makes a lot more sense than what we've been thinking..."

"Eliz, that's exactly my point. I don't think Matt and Toris would've done this in their free will. …It's gotta be the ring…oh God…"

"…All right, let's assume that for now. So, what are we supposed to do?"

"What if we took this to the police?" Alfred suggested.

"I don't know if that's going to work-"

"Of course, it totally won't work," the Polish boy retorted. "They're the fucking police, for God's sake. They, like, don't give a damn what happens to us whores."

"Feliks, what are _we_ supposed to do?" Alfred fought. "We don't have the authority to search the streets for them! We don't have weapons, we don't have bullet-proof vests; we're completely useless right now! Whoever's in control of them has to be dangerous and manipulative, and even if we knew where they are, we'd have no idea how to handle the situation!"

"The police, like, don't know where they are either."

"But they have experience in crime, and we don't! …Feliks, I understand why you hate the police, and I know that not all of them are good, but we don't have any other choice at this point. We have to trust them."

"We need another perspective on this before we go to the police," Elizaveta contended. "Someone with a better understanding of how things work in law enforcement than we do."

"…Wait, doesn't Gil's brother work with the police?"

She sat there, staring at him for a few seconds. "…Oh my God, I can't believe I'm saying this, but we need Gil. The only problem is he's still in detention, and he won't get out until 4:00."

"God," Alfred complained, "why didn't he just blow it off?"

"…I wouldn't put it past him. Feliks, I'm gonna try to reach Gilbert. Why don't you come on over?"

"It'll, like, take me awhile to get there. I'll have to walk."

"All right, I'll try to make him pick you up. I'll call you back to confirm. Bye."

"Like, bye."

Ending the call, Elizaveta immediately dialed in the albino's number to save time. "Come on, Gil…" she pleaded, "pick up…pick up…"

"Hey, babe. Why you calling?"

"Gilbert, thank God!" she cried out, for once grateful that he was breaking the rules. "Look, we need your help. Get over here."

"Where?"

"Alfred's house, you dumbass! Oh, and you have to pick up Feliks."

"What? I don't know where that hooker lives!"

"He lives in that apartment complex next to the lot where the farmer's market is. I'll make sure he's waiting outside."

"But-"

"No buts, unless you want me to stick a frying pan up yours. Look, I'll explain when you get here, and you _are_ coming here and you _will_ pick up Feliks because this is an emergency. Do you understand me?"

"All right, all right. No need to get violent. I'll be there and I'll go get him, okay?"

"Thank you, Gil. …You're awesome."

Surprised by her flattery, Gilbert chuckled and replied, "…You're welcome, babe."

"Don't push it."

**. . .**

The sound of two people squabbling caught Elizaveta's attention, and she opened the front door to see what the commotion was about. Gilbert and Feliks were yelling about something, and she just rolled her eyes and commanded them inside. "Gil, what the hell did you do?" she accused as they walked through the door.

"Hey, he started it," Gilbert defended himself. "I was just trying to make small talk, and he went all PMS over me."

"I'm totally a guy, you dick! I don't, like, get PMS! And, like, last time I checked, asking how much I get paid on the streets is totally rude."

"Well, you didn't need to 'totally' flip out on me! God, why're you so fucking emotional_?_"

The moment Gil finished speaking, it was apparent that tears were welling in the Pole's eyes. Elizaveta slapped Gil across the face, shouting, "He has a right to be emotional! We all do! For once, could you read the damn _atmosphere?_"

Rubbing at the mark forming on his cheek, the albino looked over to Alfred on the sofa, who appeared to be a nervous wreck. "…All right, what am I missing here?"

Elizaveta sighed, taking the near identical notes from Al and Feliks and handing them off to Gilbert. After scanning over the papers, he gazed at her with a mix of shock and confusion, asking, "…They left?"

"…We think that the human trafficking ring they escaped from might have taken them back and left these here to mislead us."

"Well, that's definitely more likely," Gilbert reasoned. "These notes are so formal: there are no contractions. Not to mention the fact that they're practically the same."

"S-So," Alfred began, "since your brother's in law enforcement, we were wondering if you could tell us if the police could do anything."

Gilbert sighed, and the American's heart sank immediately. "…I'm sorry, but it's not enough."

"_What?_" Al roared, jumping up from the couch. He grasped the albino's shirt and yanked him down to his height. "_Why fucking not?_"

"Alfred, you've got-"

"My Matthew, my _pure_ Matthew is out there somewhere-"

"Alfred-"

"-And I don't know if he's already getting raped by some filthy bastard-"

"Al-"

"-Whose filthy hands could be all over his-"

"Alfred, listen to me!" Gilbert shouted, getting the boy to shut up. "…Al, I know you're upset, and I'm sorry, but you have to think realistically. If you went to the police right now with these papers, and while I'm sure they'd find them suspicious, they're going to pass it off as an elopement or something. The police don't know them like we do, you don't know where they are, and you don't have any other evidence to support foul play. Also, you don't know when they left, so searching for them is pretty much impractical. If they left right after we went to school, who knows where they could be by now?"

"No, they, like, couldn't have left then," Feliks argued. "I last saw Toris at eleven in the morning. Then I went shopping for, like, three hours, and when I returned at two, he wasn't there anymore."

"Still, unless you get some other evidence, these notes and that timeline aren't really going to help. The ringleader's smart; it's like he knew that and made these just to rub it in our faces. …I'm sorry, guys."

Slowly, Alfred lowered his head and let go of Gilbert's shirt. He walked away from them into Matthew's room and shut the door. Feeling empty and useless, he flopped down onto the bed, the bed that carried Matthew's beautiful scent. There was a slight discomfort in laying his head on the pillow, but he couldn't care less. That one sliver of hope had disappeared, replaced with only despair.

He wondered if this was what Matthew had felt like for those three tainted years of his life.


	14. Chapter 14

**(A/N: This chapter is rather graphic and disturbing, and I want to point that out in advance. You have been warned, so let the chapter commence.)**

**CHAPTER XIV**

Nine at night, the clock read, but Matthew had no method of proving otherwise. There were no windows, as to be expected of a basement, even if it looked nothing like one. The room Ivan had put him in was furnished beautifully, meant to give off a soothing ambiance. Still, the air was always cold; the boy shivered slightly on the bed's silk sheets, staring at the wall across the room. Toris was on the other side of that wall, and he wondered faintly if the walls were soundproof. Deciding that was incredibly likely just in case any of the Russian's neighbors were actually around, Matt reluctantly focused his mind on what was going to happen while they stayed here.

Brainwashing them all over again was a given, and the two knew the procedure well by now. There had to be complete isolation, a false sense of comfort, and emotional degradation as the Russian spouted threats and insults. It was the same in the hotel rooms that they resided in as in this basement. Although the process prepared them for the days and nights they were to be used, it wasn't any less brutal.

His thoughts wandered to those of Alfred, but he tried to shake them away. If he couldn't let go and let apathy overtake him, there was no way he would withstand life in the industry.

Someone knocked firmly on the door, and Matthew froze, eyes wide as he turned his attention to the wooden entrance. It opened, and in came Ivan, smiling as he closed the door behind him. With the way those wintry eyes bore into him, Matthew swore that the man could freeze hell over if he wanted to. "Good evening, _Metyu_," the Russian greeted him.

"G-Good evening, Ivan," the boy returned, his lips numb.

"I want to have you working as soon as possible, so we are starting the reprogramming right away. Take off your clothes."

The Canadian averted his bleary eyes, sniffling as he nodded and began to pull off his red sweatshirt. He didn't want the man to see him naked; he didn't want anyone but Alfred to see him in that vulnerable state. _I don't want this_, Matt thought, unable to stop himself from weeping as his hands moved to slip the jeans off his narrow hips.

"Pitiful," Ivan stated, his tone light and blithe. "You are so _weak_. I have not seen you so weak since the day we first met."

Matt found himself believing the words as he finished undressing, having never been told otherwise. Even in the last days of his new life, Al had never once said he was strong; only beautiful. And he'd heard that word from far too many people.

Grinning cruelly, Ivan demanded, "_Na kaleni_." Knowing that phrase all too well, Matthew got on his knees as ordered, facing the foot of the bed. The man pulled a large bondage cuff out of his bulky trench coat and bound both of Matt's hands in the leather restraint, attaching it to metal loop embedded in the wooden bar between the bedposts. Miserably, the Canadian rested his elbows on the sheets, raising his backside into the air.

As the Russian climbed onto the bed behind him, Matt tried to mentally prepare himself for what would happen; tried to block out the memory of his first night at the ring that terribly resembled this situation. The sound of a cap snapping open caught his attention, along with the squelch of gel escaping a bottle. Two lube-coated fingers were suddenly shoved into his anus, and Matt cried out at the freezing pain.

"…_Metyu_, you are not as tight as I thought you would be. Do not tell me you had sex outside of the ring."

When the boy's muscles tensed around his digits, Ivan chuckled, the truth revealed. "_Blia_," he accused, slapping his pet across the face with his other hand. Matthew screamed, the stinging ache on his cheek causing him to cry as the man continued to call him a whore in Russian. "You could not go a month and a half without servicing someone. Did you leave because you wanted the money for yourself? You little, greedy _blia_."

"I-I did not wh-whore myself!" Matthew fought, knowing it was dangerous to talk back.

"Oh, really?" Ivan inquired, thrusting in a third finger as the boy protested. "Then you had sex with that American boy, da? How sweet."

Seeing no reason to inform the man that he had also been gang raped days after escaping, Matthew shouted with the hatred inside of him at his boiling point, "A-Alfred loves me! He was g-gentle and didn't want to h-hurt me! But you- you're rough! Y-You're rough and- and you just don't _care_!"

Offended, the Russian denied, "That is not true. I care about my pets and I would never want any harm to come to them. Why else would I specially alter the collars?"

"…What do you m-mean?" Matt asked, dreading the answer he would get.

"I input chips that send me a locating signal if a collar is damaged."

Matthew's body trembled with dilated irises, realizing he and Alfred had brought this upon himself by burning the collar. An act that was supposed to free him from these chains had actually sealed his fate.

Seeing he had touched a critical nerve, the boy choking back sobs, Ivan took the opportunity to break him as it was presented.

"So, what _did_ you with that collar, _Metyu_?" he taunted, twisting his fingers inside of his pet's entrance.

"_Ah-Ahhn_…" Matt involuntarily mewled, hating Ivan for doing this to him. Only Alfred had the right to stretch him out and make him moan. "W-We threw it in- into the fire…"

"'We'? Ah, you and your beloved Alfred, da?" Ivan merrily continued, "I suppose I should thank your foolish fuck buddy for bringing you right to me."

Infuriated by his words, Matthew lifted his left leg off the bed and kicked harshly into the Russian's gut, like an agitated horse tied to a post. The moment his foot made contact, Matt realized what a grave mistake he had just made.

The man grunted as the wind was nearly knocked out of him, surprised by his pet's audacity. Asserting his authority, he pulled his fingers out and used both his hands to nearly strangle the boy's thin neck. Ivan leaned in, whispering threateningly into the Canadian's ear, "You think I am rough, da? Then I might as well live up to your expectations…if not _exceed_ them."

Stepping off the bed and walking out of the room, he left the boy to get the air back into his lungs. "…N-No…" Matt coughed, his voice cracking as a more intense dread than ever before overtook him. He was completely screwed over now, as the Russian must have gone off to get more supplies, like the whip he mutilated Toris with. Sniveling to himself, Matthew began his mantra, "I don't want this…I don't want this…"

When Ivan returned, Matthew was still repeating the words, tears mixing with the silk sheets. The boy looked up as footsteps approached, the smallest bit of relief washing over him as he saw the man was not carrying a whip. That relief was soon overpowered by the fear instilled in him from what Ivan was carrying instead: a hollow metal dildo attached to a harness, connected by wires to a small power source.

"You should feel honored, _Metyu_," the Russian informed him with a cruel, childlike smile. "I have not tried this form of electrostimulation with anyone yet, so you are the first to test it out. The good thing about this type is that should it severely damage you, it will only be internal, so the clients would not be able to tell. At least, that is what the instructions said before I modified it."

His grin only broadened as Matthew shook, unsettled by the man's words. The Canadian watched in horror as Ivan removed everything but his trench coat, spreading lubricant over his large dick before strapping on the dildo. After applying the gel to the metal encasement, the Russian climbed back onto the mattress. "There is rubber inside of the metal to prevent it from affecting me, so you are the one that gets to feel the electricity. How lucky you are."

As the boy whimpered, Ivan clamped his hands on Matthew's trembling hips for support, preparing the angle upon which to enter him. Without further delay, he forced himself inside, taking delight in the tight contraction around his length.

Alive with shooting pain, Matthew sobbed as the thick member invaded his rectum. His hands begged to be released so that they could grip the sheets to provide some measure of relief, but the cuffs did not give in. Instead, the Canadian dug his elbows farther into the mattress, letting tears fall onto the quivering skin of his arms.

"It would hurt less if you could relax," the Russian explained, letting a hand slink down to the boy's cock. Gasping at the cold fingers on his prick, Matt couldn't stop the hitched moans emanating from his throat as he was lightly stroked. Shame overshadowed the pleasure and the ache, as only Alfred's hand belonged there.

Smirking, Ivan took his hand away and moved it to the electric power source. He decided to start off easy, moving the dial to only the first level. "_Ah!_" Matt squeaked as a tingling sensation stimulated the sensitive nerves around his anus. "_A-Ahhhh_…"

"Did I not tell you it would feel good? Is not so bad, da?" At least, it wasn't for now, but Ivan was sure that would change by the end. Slowly, he began the thrusting rhythm, satisfied with the friction surrounding him. Matthew moved his hips with their pace, wanting to finish as fast as he could so Ivan would leave. Still, he couldn't deny that the electricity was rather arousing, his high-pitched mewling accentuated when the dildo brushed against his prostate.

"_Ah-Ahhhhhn_," the Canadian moaned with quivering thighs, his cock twitching as if the electrode had been directly applied to it. Losing himself in the physical delight, Alfred began to fade from his mind as he rocked a little faster.

"You see? I can be gentle just like your precious American. However…" Ivan trailed off as his fingers touched the dial on the power source, "…I can also be _rough._" In an instant, the Russian's hands turned the dial all the way up to full power.

Matthew shrieked deafeningly as the current seared through him, eyes bulging as his body convulsed violently. Laughing, Ivan rammed into him harder with each thrust, the boy screeching as his prostate was struck mercilessly. The voltage was blistering now, and he thrashed about on the slippery silk sheets, screaming, "ALFRED!" over and over.

"Where is he?" Ivan taunted as he vehemently rode the flailing Canadian. "Oh, _Metyu_, where is he? Where is your hero, now?"

"ALFRED! _ALFRED_!" Matt wailed, squirming like an earthworm caught in the mouth of a starving bird, the burning feeling in his backside excruciating.

"Why, he is miles from here!" he jeered, his violet eyes instilled with sadistic pleasure. "Miles! He cannot hear you. Not one bit."

"ALFRED!"

"By all means, keep shouting," the Russian encouraged him, feeling his peak coming on as the boy's entrance squeezed continually around the dildo like a rapidly beating heart. "Shout all you desire for your dear Alfred, but he will not come."

Within seconds, the climactic contractions in his dick began and semen spurt from the slit, filling the rubber interior of the dildo. Shutting off the electric power source, Ivan pulled out from the writhing boy, pleased with his orgasm. He released the Canadian from the leather shackle, gathered his things together and turned off the lights on the way out. "Good night, _Metyu_."

Matthew was still twitching as the door closed, his spine feeding off the electric current, his throat raw from all of his screaming. Curling up into a ball, he hid his face in his knees as he cried, aware of the blood trickling out from his tender hole.

**. . .**

What was it, some point past nine? _What does it matter_? Alfred thought, still lying hopelessly on his lover's bed. _How does time matter at all when he's gone? _

He assumed his friends must have left at some point, and his father had already come in to check on him and learn the situation. Not that any of that mattered. No, nothing mattered without Matthew. Nothing at all. Not even the sore ache forming in his neck mattered.

God, why was the pillow so uncomfortable, anyway? Unable to ignore the irritation anymore, the American lifted his head and threw the pillow off the bed. What he found underneath surprised him: it was a notebook. The memory of Matthew asking him for something to write in flooded back, although he thought nothing of it at the time. His curiosity was piqued, so Alfred found the string bookmark and opened to the last page written in.

_"I can't believe it even as I write. I made love with Alfred last. I _made love _with Alfred last night. How many times do I have to write that until I believe it? And now Mr. Kirkland is letting me stay permanently, even after he found out I made love with Alfred. Can you tell how much I love writing that sentence? I'll write it again: I made love with Alfred. This is the greatest I've ever felt in my life. Oh yeah, and I have a new life. I'll explain that soon, but first, let me catch my breath."_

It was a journal, and although he knew it was wrong to pry into his lover's private thoughts, Alfred read over the following paragraphs, his heart mended and torn at the same time. This was definite proof that Matthew loved him…and that he hadn't left on his own accord. This…this…

…This could be evidence he could bring to the police to support his case. Surely they'd read it and come to the same conclusion, right? No, he still needed an address so they'd have some place to look.

Realization flooding over him, Alfred flipped to the beginning of the journal, thinking that the Canadian might have written it down. He found a passage that caught his eye:

_"I told them that I might be able to find the ring if I was brought back to New York City, but that was a lie. I could never forget the address Ivan Braginski ingrained into my mind:"_

The address for the _Sunflower Hotel _was documented right beneath those words.

"DAD!" he shouted, running out of the room with the journal in hand. "DAD, WE HAVE TO GO TO THE POLICE!"

Coming down the stairs as fast as he could, Arthur asked, "What the bloody hell are you-"

That was when he saw the notebook his son was clutching. "Dad, I have it," Alfred declared. "I have the evidence right here. I have testimony, I have the leader's name, and I have the address."

"…We'll pick up Gilbert on the way there," the Brit stated, throwing on his jacket and pulling the car keys out of his pocket. "We'll be more influential with him there."

Alfred nodded, rushing out after his father. _Matt, just hold on_, his heart implored. _I'm coming to get you_.


	15. Chapter 15

**CHAPTER XV**

Ludwig sighed, rubbing his aching temples. It had been a long, uneventful day at the station, and just when his shift was about to end, a call came in from the receptionist at the front desk. "Officer Weillschmidt, a kid claiming to be your brother and some other people are here to see you. They say it's urgent."

"All right," the German replied, "tell them I'll be right out." As Ludwig left his desk, heading to the lobby, he wondered what could be so pressing that his brother had to visit him at work.

"There you are!" Gilbert shouted when the man walked into the waiting area. "It's about fucking time, West!"

"Don't curse," Ludwig scolded, several blonde strands of slicked back hair unraveling as he massaged his temples. He recognized Alfred and his father; the boy was rather distraught. "What's the problem?"

"Long story short, we're sure our friends were kidnapped by the human trafficking ring they ran away from, and we need to save them."

An incredulous look on his face, Ludwig stated, "…Okay, I need to hear the full story. Come with me." They followed him back into the office area, and the German took a seat at his desk. "Now, what exactly happened here?"

"Matthew and Toris ran away from a human trafficking ring in New York," Gilbert explained, "and Matt was living with Al for awhile; Toris stayed with another guy, Feliks. Today, Al came home and Matt was gone, only leaving this note. A similar one was left at Feliks's place."

He handed the letters to his older brother, who scanned over the words. "There are several technicalities, one being that Feliks does not own a printer. The two would have had to have printed the notes at Al's house. However, they signed their names at the end in pen. Why not just write with a pen from the beginning? Also, the notes' generic quality is even more suspicious because they are so formal - there are no contractions. The point is that this is completely out of character for either of them since they contradict their feelings."

"Feelings?"

Gilbert glanced to Alfred, as if to ask if it was okay to bring up the American's relationship. After receiving a dismal nod, he continued. "Matthew and Alfred just started going steady a few days before this happened, and things were going well between Toris and Feliks. It makes no sense for the two to just up and go."

"Gilbert, you know that people are fickle with their emotions," Ludwig argued.

"Matthew loves me!" Alfred cut in, holding back tears as he lost the little composure he had. "I-If you don't believe me, then read his journal!" Opening the notebook to the correct page, he thrust the papers into Ludwig's face. As the man read the entry, his face flushed slightly at the mention of love-making. "Can you really believe he would just leave after writing that?"

"He is…enthusiastic in his writing, I'll give you that. But Alfred, people's feelings can change at the drop of a pin-"

"But we made love!" Al shouted, grabbing everyone's attention.

"Alfred, I know that," the German asserted, uncomfortable with how the rest of the officers were staring in their direction now.

"R-Right before, he told me how- how he never wanted to leave! He said he couldn't ever imagine himself leaving! H-He wrote all of that down! Can't you read?"

"I need you to listen to me. Your case is compelling, and I admit that this is all incredibly suspicious, but suspicion is not enough to prove someone was kidnapped, much less start a search."

"You- You just don't care!" Alfred moved to hit the man, but his father held him back. "Matt and Feliks are right! You don't care! The police have _never _cared about whores, even if they're victims of trafficking!"

"Alfred, calm down!" Arthur ordered, his son squirming in his hold.

"Well- Well, let me tell you, you German bastard, Matthew is _pure_! Absolutely pure! M-More pure than you'll ever be!"

At this point, the American was hysterical, tears streaming down his cheeks as he broke down in his father's arms. "M-My Matthew could be being used r-right now, a-and you don't even _care_."

Empathizing with his friend, Gilbert returned his gaze to his brother, determined to make their case. "West, look, Matt and Toris were part of a human trafficking ring, okay? That means that every day, disgusting men were raping them while their paychecks went to a pimp. Why the hell would they risk being put through that again by leaving somewhere they knew was safe? They're both immigrants unfamiliar with American laws and they have nowhere else to go. This doesn't make any sense at _all_."

The albino picked up the journal and flipped to the page Alfred had shown him earlier. "We have the ringleader's name and we have the address of his hotel, where Matthew's writings indicate the ring is centered. I went through this on the way here, and he has many detailed accounts of his exploitation. Now, whether you believe Matt and Toris were kidnapped or not, there is a monster out there prostituting people, and there is a high chance that they are at this hotel. Even if they're not, this menace can be brought to justice." He tossed the notebook to Ludwig and let him flip through the pages of heartrending documentation. "Is that not enough probable cause for you?"

Contemplating the evidence before him with much scrutiny, along with everything he had been told that evening, Ludwig made up his mind. "…There is not much I can do here since this is going on in New York. I'll have to pay a visit to the NYPD and convince them."

"West, you're awesome!" Gilbert exclaimed, pulling his older brother into a tight hug. "Not as awesome as me, though."

"Let go," the German commanded. "I need to call them. It would be better than just dropping in unannounced."

The albino released the man from his hold, letting him pick up the phone at his desk and dial the correct number. After explaining that he needed to discuss the case with the NYPD, Ludwig hung up and grabbed his coat off the chair. "Now, I want you all to go home and let me handle this. My shift is over, so I'll head up there right now."

"No way!" Alfred protested, following the German out the door. "I'm coming with you!"

"Same," Gil agreed, not wanting to miss out on any of the action.

Ludwig sighed, knowing how difficult it would be to talk the two out of it. It would only waste precious time. "Well, Gilbert, you're persuasive and know how to make a point. You'd probably make a good lawyer if you focused more on school. I'm going to need you to help make our case." Turning to the Brit, he asked, "…Mr. Kirkland, are you okay with Alfred coming along?"

Arthur mulled over the facts. "…Well, you are a certified police officer. Alfred is a crucial witness to this case; I know that. As long as you keep him on the sidelines, I have no reason to refuse."

"All right, then let's get going. I want to get there before eleven."

Gilbert eagerly ran to the car as Ludwig walked briskly. Before leaving, Alfred glanced to his father and embraced him. "Th-Thanks, Dad."

"Be safe," Arthur spoke softly, running fingers through his son's short hair. "Now, go and bring them back."

Nodding, the American sprinted after the rest, his heart pounding. As Ludwig put the vehicle in "drive" and pulled out of the parking lot, Al peered through the back window.

He waved as he watched the figure of his father became smaller and smaller.

**. . .**

"Brother hasn't returned yet," Natalia mused, resting her elbows on the hotel's front desk. "It's past eleven. Why isn't he back yet?"

Eduard Von Bock, managing the laptop next to her, replied, "He's probably still at the house. The pets need to be reprogrammed."

"I could be there helping him, but instead he chose Ismael!" she complained, her platinum blonde hair whipping around as she turned to face him. "All he's been doing lately is spending time with Ismael! Why didn't he choose _me_ to for the recapture and reprogramming?"

Smiling awkwardly, the Estonian answered, "W-Well, you're better at financial and business management than Ismael. You should be happy that he puts so much trust in you." Though he knew the real reason was because the woman tended to freak Ivan out with her desire to marry him. Of course, that wasn't even possible since the two were siblings, but it was still creepy, even for the Russian.

When she just muttered something to herself and looked away, Eduard sighed, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he returned his eyes to the laptop's monitor. He had several security camera feeds on display from the different rooms in the hotel, and it was rather discomfiting to watch six screens of clients getting their share of the pets. The streets had been lucky for the whores, and each brought many men back to the hotel throughout the day. Still, in the few years he had worked managing the technology in the ring, the sight was never any less disturbing.

Sometimes, Eduard wondered why he got caught up in human trafficking in the first place. Then he would remember how he was an ITT Tech graduate strapped for cash, desperate for any work he could find. After months of no luck, he met Ivan, who offered him a job working computers. Once involved, it was impossible to leave unless he wanted a bullet to the head.

He sighed, focusing on a particular screen observing the front entrance to the hotel. There was some movement coming into the picture and it caught his attention.

"…Oh no," he uttered, green eyes wide.

"What is it?" Natalia asked, sensing the dread in his voice. She slid her chair over so she could see the monitor. Several police cars had parked outside, the officers emerging from the vehicles' doors.

"Th-This isn't good…"

"Eduard," the woman commanded, "I'll handle things down here. Take the laptop upstairs with you and get the pets out of there. If all else fails, do whatever you can to prevent the police from getting to the third floor."

"A-Affirmative." The Estonian gathered his laptop and various wires, rushing to the elevator. Pressing the correct floor along with the button for the doors to close, he ascended through the shaft right before the police entered the building.

"Welcome to the _Sunflower Hotel_," Natalia greeted them with her best poker face. "How can I help you this evening?"

One of the six officers walked forward to the desk. "We need to speak with Ivan Braginski. He is the owner of this establishment, correct?"

Keeping a sense of confident equanimity, Natalia simply answered, "I'm sorry, but he is still out on business. If you would like, I can take a message for when he returns."

"Do you know where he went?"

"Unfortunately, no. He often goes off on his own and leaves the hotel management to me without notice."

Glancing to her nametag, he asked, "Your name is Natalia, is it not?"

"That is true."

"Are you by any means related to Ivan?"

"I am his sister."

"Shouldn't someone as close to him as his sister know where he goes?"

Resisting the overwhelming urge to scream that _of course _she knew, as she always kept tabs on her brother, the woman replied, "…I already told you, I haven't a clue."

"Miss Natalia," the cop addressed her, his tone suddenly firm and accusatory, "we have a warrant to search this establishment. If anything foul is going on inside this hotel, we're going to find out. We'll find Ivan one way or another, so you might as well tell us now."

She only laughed, smirking cruelly. "Search to your heart's content, but you'll find nothing."

Taking her up on her offer, the officer ordered the other five to get to work. They immediately moved to the elevator, but it refused to open. "Ah, it must have broken down," Natalia calmly stated, knowing the truth: Eduard had messed with the elevator to keep it from running.

"We're going to need a technician," a policeman asserted. "Miss Natalia, is there any other way to get upstairs?"

"No." Yet, that was a lie. There were the metal stairs scaling the back of the building, attached to the balcony outside the designated headquarters on the third floor. Almost like a fire escape, it was a way for the clients to leave should the circumstances become complicated.

Unfortunately, Ismael still had the van, so there were no means to get the pets out while still keeping control over them. That meant there was no way she could let the police reach the third floor. In other words, she would have to dispose of them.

"Check outside the building," the man in charge ordered a few of the policemen. "You two, search everything on this floor."

Obeying his commands, the first group tried to leave via the front entrance, but the doors wouldn't budge. "Sir, the doors won't open!"

"Same here!" the other group attempting to pass through the lobby to the dining area called out.

"It's futile," Natalia explained, a sick grin on her face. "Everything in the hotel is controlled from Eduard's laptop. That means he can lock all the doors and windows with a click of the mouse. Technology really is amazing, don't you think?"

The chief froze, eerie blue eyes leering at him. "Still…" she began as she hiked up her dress to reveal a knife strapped to her leg, "I've always been more old-fashioned."

Before he could even respond, the blade plunged into his heart. The other officers watched in horror as the knife was pulled out and the man fell to the floor, blood gushing from his chest.

"CHIEF!"

"O-Officer down!" One of them shouted into a two-way radio. "Send backup and an ambulance immediately!"

Natalia cackled as the police drew their guns, too afraid to come close in case she stabbed them next. "Natalia, put down the knife!"

She tossed the knife onto the desk, lifting up her blue dress again to exchange it for a revolver. "I was hoping we could handle things silently, but I suppose it wasn't meant to be."

"Put down the gun!"

"Picky aren't you?" the woman teased, her eyes alive with madness. "So, who will shoot first, you or me?"

"We are prepared to shoot if you do not back down!"

As if Natalia did not believe their words, she pulled ever so little on the trigger, counting down, "Three…"  
She cried out as a bullet pierced the skin of her hand, knocking the revolver away. With rabid intensity, Natalia glowered at the policeman that shot at her, smoke wafting from his gun. Then the glare turned to a sinister smile and she laughed.

"Red…" she spoke, staring at the liquid dripping from her skin, "…isn't it a lovely color?" Grabbing the dagger off the desk with her undamaged hand, Natalia looked to them with wide, radical eyes. "Blood is red, for royals, it's blue. Please tell me, which color will spurt from you?"

Threatened, the police shot at her feet as the woman ran toward them. She stumbled, unable to stand up with the pain searing through her. But if Natalia felt pain, she didn't show it from the way she was laughing, sprawled out on the floor.

Now that she was incapacitated, the cops walked lowered their guns and walked over. "Natalia, you are under arrest for the murder of our chief," a policeman informed her, handcuffing her hands behind her back.

"AH HA HA _HA_!" she cackled gleefully, the twisted leer on her face refusing to leave. "Oh, it does not matter if I am taken! Brother is free. Brother will get away and pick up elsewhere. As long as he has a whore or two, the business will thrive! IT WILL _THRIVE_!"

Even as backup arrived and broke down the doors, her laughter did not fade, but merely blended with the sirens engulfing the city.

**. . .**

"So the squad went around back and found stairs leading to the third floor, which was where the hotel kept the prostitutes," an officer at the precinct explained to another as they prepared to leave. "The guys from Jersey were right: it was a human trafficking ring. And Braginski's sister practically admitted it in her crazed rant."

"Did they find the two guys they were looking for?" the other asked.

"Not yet, and the leader himself is still missing."

A third policeman walked over with news. "Men, the technical assistant working for Braginski just cracked. Ivan's at his house with his partner, Ismael. He says they've got the other two there. I've got the address right here…" The cop recited the street name and number.

"Wait, don't we need a warrant?"

"There's a high chance that Braginski might flee or kill the other kids in an attempt to hide the evidence. After all, the case is all over the news. So we're declaring this an exigent circumstance. Let's get going."

At that, they left the office area with other policemen, for they were likely to need plenty of backup. The whole time, Alfred had sat there, taking in all of their conversation. To make sure he wouldn't forget, the boy swiped a pen and wrote the street name down on his hand before bolting up from his chair.

"Al, stay here!" Gilbert demanded. His friend simply ignored the albino's pleads, quickly putting on his leather jacket.

"NYPD can handle this," Ludwig tried to reason with the American, "and I promised your father that I'd keep you on the sidelines."

Alfred turned around, glaring at both of them. "Ludwig, I can't! I can't just sit around on the sidelines while Matt's out there in serious danger! Didn't you hear them? He might get away, or worse, kill them! So, sorry, but I'm going there, and you can't stop me." He ran out the door before the two could say another word, flagging down a cab once he reached the sidewalk curb.

"Where do you need to go, kid?" the cab driver inquired, his tone that of an irritated Italian.

"I just need you to drop me off at the start of this street," Al answered, showing the man the address on his palm.

Lovino groaned internally, beginning to wonder if he was the only cab driver in New York City that picked up freaks. At least this kid wasn't like that creepy bastard that wanted to go to Jersey. Pulling away from the curb, the Italian drove off to the destination.

_I'm sorry, Dad_, Alfred mentally apologized as the precinct house faded from view, _I said I'd be safe, but I can't guarantee that now. …But you already knew that, didn't you?_

**(A/N: Long chapter is long. I wasn't originally planning for Belarus to go all horror movie on the police, but the part practically wrote itself. Perhaps I should lay off the **_**Higurashi**_**. See you next week!) **


	16. Chapter 16

**CHAPTER XVI**

"To the left," Ivan calmly directed his partner, the Cuban trying to regain the television signal by moving around the rabbit ears. "No, no, more to the right."

Ismael sighed, his brow furrowed as he maneuvered the metal rods around. God, ever since the switch to digital television, the signal had been infuriatingly difficult to keep, even with the digital converter box. The man really needed to get new antennas or maybe even a new TV, but that wasn't ever going to happen.

Really, Ivan spent so much to keep the hotel and the basement rooms in tip-top furnished shape, while the rest of his home was practically in shambles. The pipe system throughout the house was such a mess that he was always replacing it, tossing the rusted parts out back.

Finally, the antennas picked up the signal again and the Cuban plopped back down on the ratty sofa, the only source of light in the room coming from the TV. As Ivan flipped through the channels, his partner asked, "So, when are you planning to reprogram Toris?"

"Later," the Russian answered, his eyes focused on the screen. "I am sure he heard _Metyu_'s shrieks, so he must be frightened. I will deal with him later; let him sweat it out, as you say?"

Nodding, Ismael propped his elbow up on the couch's arm, playing with his black dreads. To Ivan, sex was only about power and punishment. That was what he got off on: control. Dominating someone, hearing their protests as they writhed beneath him, it was ecstasy to the man. He used sex for coercion, for cash when he exploited others, but never for love.

Ismael knew well enough what it meant to be one of the Russian's fuck buddies, though he faintly wanted more than that. But the other man would never care, would never feel anything but a friendly partnership with the Cuban. Sometimes, he was convinced that the Russian just didn't feel at all. And yet, Ivan had always been there for him since he walked into his life.

Just a decade ago, the Cuban had been living on the streets, doing all sorts of drugs as he sold his body to pay for them. The Russian took him in and paid for rehab, the medical complications, just _everything_. So he owed Ivan, even if that meant taking part in the human trafficking ring. Hell, he'd already been a prostitute himself, so it wasn't like the scene was anything new to him. The only difference was that he was working behind the scenes instead of the streets.

The Russian stopped on a local news channel, calmly reclining until the reporter's words caught his attention. "An officer was murdered tonight by a receptionist at the _Sunflower Hotel_, where a human trafficking ring has just been uncovered."

"…Shit," Ismael muttered, their operation exposed. He glanced over at Ivan, who was attentively watching the news report with unblinking violet eyes.

"The police are looking for two men: Ivan Braginski and Ismael Fernández." Their photos appeared on the television screen. "They are allegedly residing in Braginski's home with the two remaining victims."

"Thank you, Barbara," the newscaster cut in. "Now, you won't believe how the police actually got the tip on this ring-"

When the cable suddenly cut out again and the room went black, the Russian shouted at Ismael to get the signal back. Immediately jumping up from the couch, the dark-skinned man rushed over to the television and swiveled the rabbit ears around. He had never heard Ivan raise his voice before, and that worried him. The circumstances were dire as the set's screen stayed black, refusing to pick up the signal again. It was times like these that Ismael wished television was still analog, blaring static as black and white stripes dancing all over the screen like a vicious blizzard. At least then he could tell whether what he was doing was working.

"Forget it," Ivan demanded, standing up from the sofa as he regained his equanimity. "We do not have much time before they arrive."

"I already put the van out back earlier," Ismael informed him, turning off the faulty television. "We can just gather up Matt and Toris and head on out."

A sudden blaring of sirens pricked their ears, followed by the gritty sound of several cars pulling up to the curb. _They did not turn on their sirens until the last moment_, the Russian thought, frowning slightly. It was a smart move by the police, and now escaping without getting caught was going to be even more difficult.

Multiple sets of feet hurriedly pounded on the sidewalk until they reached the front door, which many fists brutally pounded. "This is the NYPD! Open up!"

Knowing they would enter whether he answered the door or not, Ivan gave his partner a one-finger beckoning to follow him into the basement. Ismael obeyed, running down the stairs to get a chair to lodge the doorknob in place as the Russian put the key in the lock.

"I will take care of _Metyu_ and you will take care of Toris, da?"

"Affirmative," the Cuban obeyed, turning off the light at the bottom of the stairs so that the cops wouldn't immediately realize their location. They were clothed in darkness, but their eyes would adjust, and they'd be under the light of the moon in just a little bit.

"Move quickly," Ivan ordered as the sound of wood cracking reverberated through the walls from the upper floor.

**. . .**

"Just stop here," Alfred told the cab driver, the taxi suddenly braking at the start of the designated street. Fishing the appropriate amount of cash out of his pocket according to the taximeter, the American paid the fare and stepped out of the cab. "Thank you."

"Whatever," Lovino muttered, driving off as soon as the backseat door had closed. Someday, he would get a normal customer, or at least he hoped so.

Wasting no time watching the taxi take off, Alfred ran down the street, following the faint red and blue lights flashing. Once he reached the house closest to the Braginski residence, he saw the officers break down the front door and rush inside. He wanted to run right in with them, but the cops would probably lock him in one of the police cars to keep him on the sidelines, claiming it was too dangerous or some shit like that.

It was then that Alfred realized all of the policemen had gone inside at the same time. What the hell were they thinking? They needed people to scour outside the house in case the guy had some secret passageway or something!

Cutting through the neighbor's grass to kill any chance of being spotted, the American ran into the sparse area of trees behind the structures. He stayed close enough to see the house, barely shrouded by the trees separating Ivan's property from his neighbors'. In his haste, Alfred tripped over what felt like a root, falling flat on his face.

"Augh," he muttered, rubbing his dirtied cheek before turning his attention to the culprit, a rusted water pipe. Surprised, Al picked up the metal, examining it. As he looked around, he realized there were a lot of pipe parts just lying about.

Alfred glanced back to Ivan's house, reminding himself to stay on task. He couldn't be distracted for even a second as the clock ticked down.

Noticing the white van parked in the back, the American trudged closer, the water pipe still in his hand. This had to be the getaway vehicle…and the car that had taken his Matthew away. The police were still inside, so if the ringleader came out soon with Matt and Toris, no one else would be around to stop him…

He moved to the van, trying to peer through the windows, but they were tinted. Unwilling to admit defeat, Alfred peered through the driver's window, confirming that no one was inside the car.

His breathing hastening, Al leaned against the side of the vehicle facing the trees, the water pipe gripped tightly to his chest. Frightened like never before as his legs trembled, the situation fully hit him.

He could die. Matthew could die. He could die before Matthew was saved, and Matthew could die before he was saved. Matthew could already be dead.

No, he couldn't afford to think like that. He just couldn't.

But it could be true. It could…Matthew could…

Don't think, don't you dare think-

_Matthew is dead. _

The thought ricocheted throughout his mind, stirring up all of his memories of the past month and a half. The recollection of the Canadian lying miserably on the couch suddenly resurfaced, the boy begging to be used as his feelings of worthlessness only grew. Matthew had claimed Toris was dead, but Alfred had answered_…_

"You don't know that…" Al assured to himself, breaking through his fear and helplessness. "You don't know that. You said you'd start life all over with him, and God damn it, that's what you're going to do."

His determination restored, the American lay in wait behind the van. _I won't believe you're dead until I see it myself. I have to cling to this hope that you're still alive. I have to._

**. . .**

Matthew woke abruptly as the harsh lights in the ceiling flooded the whole room. "Wh-What?" he uttered, gazing with squinted eyes at the Russian standing in the doorway.

"Get dressed," Ivan ordered, pulling a rag and duct tape out of his trench coat. As the cloth was stuffed into his mouth, which was then taped shut, Matthew looked to the man in confusion, still half-awake. "We are leaving now, so get dressed."

Pounding had begun on the basement door, and Ivan refused to wait any longer for the Canadian to fully wake up, pulling the boy's sweatshirt over his head. "Just pick up the rest of your clothes and bring them with you. You can finish in the van. Now get off the bed."

Sensing the Russian's urgency, although not sure what was going on, Matthew quickly stepped off the bed, his face contorting as the movement exacerbated the burning ache in his backside. Tears came to his violet eyes, but he gathered up his clothes as told.

The hammering augmenting, Ivan grabbed his pet's arm, trying to tow him into the hallway. When the boy barely budged, Ivan glanced behind him to find Matthew's other arm wrapped around a bedpost, the clothes strewn again on carpet.

_The police must be here_, the Canadian thought, his mind fully functioning now. _I can't leave with him. I can't!_

"Let go, or I will kill you," the Russian threatened, his arctic eyes daring Matthew to disobey him.

Knowing how fast the man could pull out a gun and send a bullet into someone's head, Matt reluctantly loosened his hold in his fear. Ivan swept the boy into his arms, rushing out of the room right after his partner as a deafening crash sounded. The heavy footfalls of law enforcement reverberated in the relit hallway, along with their heated shouts as they ran after the Russian.

Ivan grimaced, sprinting down the corridor at top speed. As the walls narrowed, the man bent his arms so that Matthew could fit. The Canadian began to cry as the curved position put more strain on his sore anus, swearing the tears were reopening.

"If you keep crying, you could choke on the rag," Ivan warned him, too focused on escape to savor the boy's muffled sobs.

He finally reached the foot of the cellar steps on the opposite side of the basement, Ismael and Toris having arrived just seconds before. Fumbling with the key for a second, the Cuban quickly undid the lock on the metal hatch and forced the doors open into the night. Ivan ran out with Matthew still in his arms, gently placing the boy onto the gravel.

Just as Ismael tried to push Toris out after them, his foot slipped and the key flew out of his hands. The Russian caught it in midair as his partner fell to the bottom of the stairs, the sound of pounding feet coming closer.

It was too late to retrieve Ismael, but his other pet was within reach. In an attempt to salvage what little he could from the situation, Ivan tried to grab Toris's arm and drag him out of the hatch. But when the first few pairs of police shoes appeared below in the limited moonlight, he realized it would be futile. Scowling, the Russian slapped the metal doors down, locking them in place.

Fists beat upon the hatch, but Ivan knew the police would soon give up and come around from the front, so he had to move fast. He looked to Matthew beside him, clad only in his red sweatshirt as he wept from the pain in his backside, almost numb to the gravel cutting into his knees. Too much of his business had been lost tonight, and he wasn't about to lose his last remaining whore.

"Move," he demanded, yanking the Canadian up from the ground by his tousled locks. Matt's protests were muted by the gag as Ivan dragged him along, each step intensifying the ache in his tender muscle.

_No_, Matthew thought, the tears flowing freely. _Just let me go! Let go!_

The Russian pulled the car keys out of his pocket, cursing to himself in his native language as he pressed the "unlock" button and nothing happened. Figuring the battery must have died, he walked around the other side of the van to manually unlock the doors.

"ARGHHH!" Alfred screamed as the ringleader rounded the corner of the vehicle, swinging the water pipe like a bat to smack the bastard's face. Having less than a second to react, Ivan let go of Matthew and grabbed the pipe inches before his nose, his wintry eyes wide with surprise.

_Shit! _Al thought, his calves quaking slightly as the man stared at him with murderous intensity. _Shit, shit, shit!_

"…You must be _Metyu_'s little boyfriend," the Russian stated, faintly recognizing him from his pet's key ring. Wrenching the water pipe out and to the ground, Ivan ruthlessly clasped his hands around the boy's neck and tackled him to the gravel. "You are the filthy American that sullied my pet."

Alfred choked and gasped, cold fingernails digging into his neck. Oh, how much he wanted to shout the same thing as the bastard strangling him, that _he_ was the one who sullied Matt, but his airway was too tight. Trying to force the fingers away, he soon gave up on that and threw punches, barely brushing the man's face.

Refusing to just sit back and watch, Matthew scrambled toward the water pipe, ignoring the shooting twinge running up his spine.

"How dare you. How _dare_ you corrupt my pet, you filthy-"

Ivan's words cut off as the Canadian struck the back of his head with the water pipe, loosening his grip on Al's neck as he fell unconscious. Gasping for air, Alfred coughed and hacked as he shimmied out from under the man, his lips reverting to their flesh tone.

Unable to fathom what just happened, Matthew let the pipe fall from his hand in shock. He instinctively tore off the duct tape and spit out the cloth to improve his breathing, just staring at the fallen Russian in disbelief.

"M-Matt," Alfred choked out, catching the boy's attention. Tears pooling in his violet eyes, Matthew winced as he staggered over to his lover, collapsing onto his lap. The Canadian sobbed into that comforting chest, relieved and hurting all at the same time.

Stroking his lover's locks, Al soothed, "Matt, it- it's okay now. It's okay."

_Thank God_, the American thought, _thank God he's alive_.

**(A/N: I'm planning for about two more chapters after this one, but I tend to write chapters longer than I imagined them in my head. All I can say for sure is that the story is not over yet, but it is close to its end. See you next week!)**


	17. Chapter 17

**(A/N: Unfortunately, I don't think I'll be able to update next week or the week after that because A) my final exams are this week, B) I'm going to animeNEXT this weekend, and C) I'm going on vacation for a week where I once again won't have internet access. Updates will begin again the first week of July, and that update **_**will**_** be the last chapter.)**

**CHAPTER XVII**

Feet pounded on the pavement as the police ran toward the back of the house, a white van in sight. A hand shot up from behind the vehicle, its owner shouting, "Over here! We're over here!" They arrived immediately, finding two embracing male teens, Ivan Braginski out cold on the ground.

"It's all right," an officer assured them as the others checked out the suspect. "We'll handle things now."

"Sir, Braginski is alive but unconscious," a policeman reported to him. "He has a welt on the back of his head."

"Just take him into custody," the officer commanded.

As the others handcuffed the Russian, the officer looked back to the two males, kneeling beside them. "What are your names?"

"I'm Alfred Kirkland," the one consoling the other answered. "This is my boyfriend, Matthew Williams. He's one of the guys you were looking for."

Pulling out his two-way radio, the policeman reported an update of the situation.

"T-Toris is st-still somewhere inside…" Matthew mumbled through his tears.

"Don't worry," the man promised. "Toris is safe and we now have Ismael and Ivan in custody. All of the other…victims are also safe."

The Canadian nodded, knowing he was referring to the others in the ring. "Now, can I ask you two some questions?" the officer asked.

"Sure," Alfred answered, possessively holding his lover close in his arms. The American felt an instinctive need to keep him safe, even if this man was a cop. It wasn't like the police hadn't hurt Matthew before…

"What happened here?"

"I-I hit Ivan," Matt told him, "w-with that water pipe over there. H-He was cho-choking A-Al so…I h-hit him."

"Alfred, you're not one of the victims, are you?"

"No, sir."

"Then what were you doing here?"

"I couldn't just wait at the police station," the American nonchalantly explained, "so I got a cab and came here to help. I went around back and then Ivan and Matt came out. I tried to hit Ivan with that water pipe over there, but he stopped me and then, well, you know the rest."

"Alfred," the cop addressed him in a serious tone, "that was incredibly dangerous. You could have been killed."

"But if I hadn't been there, then Ivan would've gotten away! Nobody else was around to stop him!"

"I understand that, but that was reckless-"

"It was reckless of you guys to all go into the house at once! You didn't once think he could come out the back instead!"

"No…I suppose we didn't. My point is that we're professionals and you're just a civilian. Leave the job to us."

` "If I had left the job to you," Alfred argued with glowering blue eyes, "then Matt would be far gone by now. That's _my_ point."

Accepting defeat, the policeman turned to Matthew and asked, "…I take it you agree with what he's been saying so far?"

The boy nodded, his head resting against the comforting chest of his lover. "I've…n-never had a good ex-experience with the police…" Matt confessed, the memories resurging. "M-Members of your f-force…have u-used m-m-me…Th-They've used a-all of us…"

The officer sighed, thinking of the best way to defend his vocation while remaining sensitive to the kid's perspective. "…Law enforcement isn't perfect. We have a lot of corruption, people abuse their power, and we screw up. We're only human. You can't always catch the bad guy, you can't always be the good guy, but we _try_. And sometimes, that's just not enough."

That was the simple truth, even if Al didn't want to admit it, although he'd known it all along. He couldn't help but hold a grudge because of what many cops had done to Matt, but it wasn't fair to judge them all for the crimes of individuals. No, that wasn't just.

Now, screwing up and going into the house all at once- that he could blame them for.

"…Um, I'm- I'm sorry, this is k-kind of awkward," the Canadian stuttered as he self-consciously tugged down his sweatshirt, "but, u-um, my pants are st-still inside the h-house. A-Any chance I could g-get them back?"

It was then that Al realized for the first time that Matt only had on a sweatshirt. A light blush made its way onto his face as his eyes wandered down his boyfriend's frame, stopping at where the fabric met his skin. If only it was hiked up a little higher…

He noticed the small, dark stain on his jeans under Matthew's legs.

"That depends on if forensics-"

"Matt, are you bleeding?" Alfred interrupted, concern prevalent in his voice. No…if it was coming from _there_, that could only mean…

The night's events resurfacing in his mind, Matthew froze before breaking down into sobs again, the twinge of pain only worsened by his shaking body. "He- He…" the Canadian tried to explain through his crying. "H-He r-r-raped -_hic_- r-raped m-m-me…" There was no way that he could ever tell Al the details…not with the electrical torture he'd gone through.

"Matt…Matt, I'm so sorry," Alfred apologized, holding his lover tight in his arms. "I-I didn't get here soon enough…"

"Y-Y-You're h-here n-n-now…" Matthew asserted, crying into the American's chest. "Th-That's wh-what matters…B-But, I-I'm not pure anymore…"

"You are, Matt," Alfred assured him, lightly planting his lips on the Canadian's forehead. "You are. He can't take that away from you. You're pure."

Al soothed his lover, although rage was bubbling up inside of him. How much he wanted to shout about how he was going to murder that Russian bastard, but it probably wasn't a good idea to do that in front of a police officer. Sighing as he let his anger recede to the back of his mind, Alfred resorted to the next best thing. "…Officer?"

"Yes?"

With a fervor burning through his eyes, the American demanded, "…Promise me you'll get him convicted. I don't want a 'we'll try', and I don't want an 'I don't know'. I want a clean-cut 'yes' or 'no' answer."

Surprised by the passion in the boy's words, the officer paused for a few seconds. "…You have my word."

"…Thank you," Alfred said, smiling in satisfaction with the man's promise. "That's all I needed to hear."

"…U-Um," Matthew cut in, still sniffling, "i-is there a-anything I can get to- to treat my…um, i-issue?"

"We've got response units on the way, so they can treat you on site."

"See, Matt? You'll be okay. Everything's gonna be okay." To prove his point, the American leaned in and kissed his lover. Matthew reciprocated, truly believing his words as he wrapped his arms around the other's neck, their lips melding together like long-lost puzzle pieces. Everything would be all right as long as he was in Alfred's arms.

The officer decided to leave them to their devices, walking off as Al's words ran through his head.

"What's on your mind?" a policeman asked him, seeing the pensive expression on his face.

"…That kid's got good instincts and this…incorruptible sense of justice," he admitted, glancing back to the two. "We need more people on the force like him."

**. . .**

"This is going to sting a bit," the paramedic informed Matthew, preparing a bit of rubbing alcohol to sterilize the tears in his anus. Matt nodded, his legs spread slightly as he rested his head on Alfred's lap. It was strangely calming in a way, although he usually wouldn't think of it that way since he was technically lying on Al's crotch.

It was a lot more calming than the scene outside the vehicle, though. Reporters had arrived after catching wind of the newest development, and there were camera flashes and shouts for information everywhere. The response unit had to be brought behind the house to keep Matthew out of view as he was treated. For that, the Canadian was glad he wasn't allowed to leave the vehicle, as he really didn't want a bunch of microphones in his face, but that meant he couldn't see Toris yet, wherever the police had him at this point. Matt sighed, knowing it'd all come together in due time.

Stroking the strands of golden waves, Alfred was reminded of when he'd bathed Matthew for the first time, drying his hair as the boy's head lay in his lap. He thought of how nice it would be to do that again now that they were in a relationship.

"All right, ready?" the paramedic asked, placing a hand on Matt's lower thigh for support. Flinching at the touch, the Canadian started trembling until Al grabbed his hand.

"It's okay," he whispered, gently rubbing circles in the palm of his hand. "He's not going to hurt you. He's just going to help. Don't worry; I'm here."

When the paramedic lightly pressed the soaked cotton ball on his tender hole, the Canadian stifled a whimper, gripping Alfred's hand as tight as he could. God, it stung a lot at first, but it soon turned into a minute tingling sensation.

The man pulled out another cotton ball, deciding that gauze would be too abrasive, and handed it to his patient. "Now," he directed the boy, "keep the cotton ball pressed there until the bleeding stops. The tears are minor and should heal relatively fast, but just know that it might hurt to have a bowel movement while it's still healing. Should the tears reopen, apply more alcohol to prevent infection, and follow the same instructions."

"Okay," Matthew agreed, awkwardly putting his hand between his legs to blot his hole with the cotton ball. Moving aside, the paramedic left the two alone as he put his supplies away.

A policeman walked over to the response unit vehicle and peered inside. "Excuse me, which one of you is Alfred?"

"I am," the American answered. "Why?"

"Your father called Officer Weillschmidt and is insisting that you turn on your cell phone. Weillschmidt had one of our men contact us."

"Oh boy," Al mumbled, fishing out his cell phone out of his jeans pocket. Great, some cop probably let the cat out of the bag to the reporters, and now it was all over the news. His dad was going to be so pissed…

He turned it on, the screen flashing with lights and colors until it reached the main menu. Damn, there were over twenty missed calls and voicemails. Still, the American didn't want to be the one to initiate the lecture, so he waited for his father to call. Sure enough, the phone rang within ten seconds and Alfred hesitantly answered it. "…Hello?"

"What the bloody hell were you thinking?"

"Hi, Dad, I'm doing fine. Thanks for asking."

"Alfred, this is not funny. Do you have any idea how many phone calls I got telling me to turn on the news because my son was nearly killed in New York saving his boyfriend from the ringleader of a trafficking ring? Do you have any idea how that feels?"

"Dad-"

"You were supposed to stay on the sidelines! That's what we agreed on! I don't know who I should be more furious with, you for flying off the handle or Ludwig for doing a poor job of looking after my son!"

"Dad-"

"You said you would be safe, and God damn it, if running off to some bloody criminal's house in the middle of the night is considered safe in your book, I do not want to know what else is!"

"Dad!"

"By God, why didn't you have your phone on?"

"In case you haven't noticed," Al curtly retorted, "it wouldn't be very stealthy to have my phone ring while I'm trying to save my boyfriend."

"…For God's sake, Alfred, do you have any idea how worried I was?"

Taking in a deep breath, the American apologized, "…Dad, I'm sorry. I'm sure you saw the news, so you know what would have happened if I wasn't there."

"That may be true, but do you have any idea how dangerous that was? You could have been killed!"

"Look, the police already lectured me on this, okay? Can't you just be happy that Matt and I are both safe and that Ivan's been arrested?"

"If it were that easy, I would be calling you to congratulate you instead of trying to knock some sense of danger into that dense skull of yours."

"You know," Matthew began, looking up innocently at his boyfriend, "it's good that he's worrying about you. It shows that he loves you."

Placing his phone on the floor of the vehicle, Al replied, "Yeah, well, with all the people telling me how dangerous it was for me to take matters into my own hands, the message kinda loses its potency."

"Well, they're right. It was really dangerous."

Alfred groaned, throwing his head back. "Matt, not you too!"

"Alfred, our conversation is not over!" Arthur shouted from the phone, even more infuriated that his son was ignoring him.

"What would I have done if he really hurt you?" the Canadian playfully argued, reaching up to hold his lover's face in his hands. "Still, that doesn't mean I'm not grateful. …Really, Al, thank you."

"Well…I'd probably be dead if you hadn't whacked him over the head," Alfred admitted, flashing a flirtatious smile, "so I should be thanking you."

Ignoring the minute pain, Matthew sat up and shifted around to face his boyfriend, leaning in for a feathery kiss. "I love you," he murmured softly with eyes shut.

"I love you, too," Al got out before their mouths brushed together, savoring the soft, pure feel of Canadian lips. Oh, how he wanted to just leave marks all over that glorious skin…

"Alfred, save that for when I'm not here!" his father yelled. "Alfred! ALFRED!"

Reluctantly breaking the kiss, the American picked up his phone again. "Dad, can we continue this later? I'm kinda busy now."

"Alfred, I _swear_, the moment you get home, I am grounding you for the rest of your life. I'll lock you in your room and then you will have to grow your hair out like Rapunzel if you want to see another _Starbucks_ again."

"Love you, too, Dad. Bye."

"…Be safe this time," the Brit grumbled before hanging up, rubbing his temples as the phone clattered back onto its hook. Really, what was he going to do with that boy?

Snapping his cell phone shut, Alfred returned his attention to his lover. "I'm so glad you're safe," he mumbled, nuzzling the Canadian's neck.

"Hm? Are you getting tired?"

"Yeah, what is it, midnight?"

"Doesn't really matter, eh?" Matthew replied, rather tired himself as he laid down. It'd been a long day, a long night, and just a long _everything_.

"Nope, not really," Al agreed, huddling up to his boyfriend as he figured the Canadian would feel cold without his pants. He resisted the sexual urges arising from that thought, knowing well enough that this wasn't the time or the place. It might take awhile for Matt to recover from his latest experience, and Al cared more about his lover's welfare than sleeping with him.

As they lay there, ignoring the faint sounds of frenzied reporters, a thought came to Matt's mind. "…Al?"

"Hm?"

"Why'd you make that officer promise to convict Ivan?" Matthew asked, his eyelids drooping with fatigue. "There's no guarantee…"

"Matt," Alfred addressed him, lightly sucking the other's neck, "he's going to get convicted. He's going to get justice served to him on a silver platter and spend a lot of his life behind bars."

Matthew moaned softly, the hot breath on his neck familiar and soothing. Wrapping his arms around his lover as they drifted off to sleep, the Canadian cuddled closer, seeking warmth along with the promise of justice.

He had to believe that was true.


	18. Chapter 18

**CHAPTER XVIII**

_"We the jury find the defendants guilty of all charges."_

Those words played over and over in Matthew's mind as he strolled through Central Park, the sun's rays light and lofty on his back.

The trafficking ring he'd lost three years of his life to had been brought to an end, and now three more years later, its leaders had been convicted. With every step on the dead leaves scattering the path, Matthew still couldn't believe it was all almost over.

Sitting down on a bench, the Canadian waited for his boyfriend to arrive. Sure enough, within ten minutes, Alfred was jogging down the path toward him. Matthew got up and met him halfway, embracing him tightly after a week without contact. "I missed you," Matt whispered into his lover's ear.

Al shivered when the tepid breath met his ear, teasing, "Cut it out, you're making me hot."

"Oh, so you didn't miss me?" Matthew teased back, wrapping his arms around the American's neck.

"Of course I missed you," Al replied, pulling the other close. "Don't get me wrong, I love spending quality time with Dad and Francis- I mean _Papa_, as he wants me to call him now, but I can't stand to be away from you. Why else would I take my courses online?"

Matthew smiled, thinking of how his boyfriend was earning his bachelor's in criminal law at an online university. With all the attention being paid to the trafficking case, the media was going crazy over how inexperienced the police were when it came to the crime. The American's strong sense of justice had led him on a mission to reform the way law enforcement dealt with the issue.

_"I'm gonna be the one to recognize the signs and stop these rings before they even take off. It may take years, but I'll move up the police chain and be the hero for trafficking victims everywhere. You can count on it!"_

"You've always been ambitious," Matt murmured to himself.

"Huh? What'd you say?"

"Nothing, I'm just talking to myself."

Shrugging his shoulders, Al let it fly and put an arm around his boyfriend as they walked over to a bench. "So, how's the memoir going?"

"Good…I guess," the Canadian answered, the smile fading from his face. "The ending will be a call to action no matter what Ivan's sentence is, but it's still a major factor."

"What do you mean?"

"I know Natalia is getting life for killing a police officer, and the others are harmless without Ivan. They wouldn't have even gotten into the business without him. All I'm worried about is how long Ivan will be incarcerated because if they let him out, he could come back and hurt me…or worse, start up another trafficking ring. That fear is going to be reflected in my writing."

"You know, I've been learning criminal law for over a year now," Al stated, "and I know that if a trafficking case is bad enough…he could get life in prison."

"…It'll never happen," Matthew argued, gripping the denim of his jeans. "It's not like he murdered anyone."

"Matt, he…with all the things he's done to you, there's no way the judge would ever let him back on the streets. He's too much of a dangerous offender to risk it."

_Right_, Matthew thought, _I keep forgetting he knows what Ivan did to me that night._ Alfred had been in the courtroom all week, meaning he'd heard all of the Canadian's testimony, from his first night in the ring through the electrostimulation torture and after.

Letting out hitched breaths before a caustic laugh, Matthew retorted, "You know, I…I keep thinking of how it would be just my fucking _luck_ if Ivan died before he even set foot in prison. I mean, that's what happened with…m-my…father."

It was still difficult to call that scum his father, but in the courtroom, there had been no way to shirk referring to the man as what he was. Matt remembered how the prosecutors had been so fervent to find his father and arrest him, only to discover the man had died in a drunken car crash little after selling his son to the ring. "He…he took the easy way out, the fucker."

The hatred that seared through Matt's voice whenever he spoke of his father always surprised Alfred. Not once had he heard his boyfriend use that tone when talking about anyone else, not even Ivan. No, for Ivan, it was only the tone of fear.

"…Matt, I bet that bastard's burning up in hell right now for what he did."

Still, the words were no comfort for the bitter Canadian. "He didn't suffer enough."

"It's true. He didn't suffer nearly enough as he should have. But now he's gone." Alfred enfolded his lover in his arms, the cotton of their sweatshirts rubbing together as he held him close. "You're still here, so he definitely got the short end of the stick."

Sighing, Matthew snuggled into the American's chest, somewhat discomfited that they were doing this out in broad daylight. Perhaps he could disappear in the warmth of his lover, fade away from sight. And if not, well, it was New York; he doubted anyone would care. "…I know that I wouldn't have met you and Ivan might've never been brought to justice if he never left me there, but I still…you know…wish it could've been different."

They cuddled in peace until the American's ears pricked, recognizing a stifled sound he knew all too well. "…Wait a minute; Eliz, I know you're behind that bush!"

"Good job, Gilbo," Elizaveta groused, emerging from the shrub with her video camera in hand. "You gave us away."

Brushing leaves out of his hair, the albino replied, "No, I believe it was your squealing that gave us away." She flipped her long brown hair in his face; he flipped her off.

"Really, Eliz?" Al asked, not at all surprised. "When is this documentary of yours going to be done anyway? It's been three years, and you're still filming us behind our backs-"

Matthew shut him up with a kiss, breaking away after a few seconds to rest his head in the crook of his boyfriend's neck. He was still camera-shy, but he was more or less used to being filmed for the Hungarian's documentary, so it wasn't that big a deal to share a kiss on tape. "Th-There you go, Eliz," he stated with a small blush across his face, stroking Al's chest with graceful fingers. "You got what you wanted."

Placing a hand on her hip as she wore a large grin, Elizaveta stated, "While I enjoy this, it's not exactly what I was looking for-"

"Oh, then maybe something more like this?" In a daring move, the Canadian hesitantly pressed down on the growing bulge in his lover's jeans, making Al groan. Eliz slapped a hand over her mouth to keep in her squeals as Gilbert rolled his eyes, muttering something about how she should be paying more attention to him since he was the awesome one.

"H-Hey," Al complained, cheeks flaring as he removed the hand from his crotch, "we're in public…and on tape. Quit making me out to be the yoo-kay."

"It's 'uke', not 'yoo-kay'," Eliz corrected him, wagging her index finger back and forth in a disapproving motion. "Anyway, as I was going to say before you gave me that great footage, I wanted to interview you guys about the trial. Then I'll secretly tape the sentencing hearing, you know, 'cause apparently that's illegal or something, I don't know. Then I'll get your reactions and last thoughts on tape, edit everything together and-"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Alfred interrupted her. "Wasn't this a documentary on guys making out?"

"Yeah," Gilbert agreed, "why else were you stalking Rod and Vash earlier over at _Juilliard_?"

"Hush, Gil. That's a different project."

"Oh, and is that sex tape of Al and Matt also a different project?"

At this, Matthew's face flushed a deep red as he pulled his hood over his head in embarrassment. Shit, he'd forgotten all about that with all of the stress over the trial.

Not only had Elizaveta "accidentally" - the Canadian still wasn't sure if she'd meant it or not considering she had her video camera - walked in on them hooking up a few weeks ago, but she also caught some thrusting and moaning on video. Matt had been so mortified that he'd started crying and Al just froze, wanting to comfort his lover, but equally humiliated and afraid any further movement would just make things worse.

"Hey, that's only for my personal entertainment," the Hungarian asserted, pouting slightly. "And don't _you_ get mad at me, Al, since I gave you a copy like you asked."

Mouth dropping open, Matthew looked to his boyfriend, who averted his blue eyes with a guilty smile. "I can't believe you!"

Frantically waving his hands in a criss-cross motion, Alfred stuttered, "I-I can explain!"

"Oh, go ahead," the Canadian encouraged him, folding his arms and tapping an accusatory finger on an upper arm.

"I wanted to see you outside of court…but, you know, you had to be isolated since you were a witness. …And you always look so hot when we do it, so, you know, I wanted to see what you looked like on the video."

His face only burned more as he yanked his hood down farther. "That's so embarrassing…"

As a bit of payback, the American leaned in and pecked the petal-like lips left exposed. "Not as embarrassing as the things I'm going to do to you tonight."

"Al, we're on camera…"

"You had no problem kissing me on camera before."

"You weren't saying all those embarrassing things before…"

"Okay, cut the gay before you give my babe a heart attack," Gilbert commented with a smirk.

Sticking her tongue out playfully, she snapped, "Call me 'babe' again, and I stick a frying pan up your ass, homophobe."

"You think _I'm_ a homophobe? How the hell would I ever be able to deal with you if I was? I'm just worrying about your health, babe."

"My health goes through the roof when I get my yaoi, so don't worry so much, 'babe'."

Gil rolled his red eyes again, thinking of how much fun it was to tease her. "If you love yaoi so much, why are you changing your documentary?"

Green irises sparkling with excitement, Elizaveta explained, "Okay, so the media's covering the trafficking case like a storm; it's being publicized nationwide. Everyone knows the case, but do they know what it's like for the people involved? No."

She put her camera to her eye, zooming in on Matthew as she directed the conversation toward him. "This is the film that's gonna introduce everyone to what you've gone through and how your boyfriend supported you through it. It's got suspense, angst, and a twist of gay romance!"

The intimidating lens was starting to make the Canadian uncomfortable, and he squirmed out of Al's hold to absentmindedly push back a few locks of his blonde hair. "I…I don't know…"

"Come on, this is the chance of a lifetime!" she tried to convince him, passing the video camera off to Gilbert so she could clasp her hands together. "Please, Matt? Please, please, please! I could enter this in a film festival and I swear it would win top prize! Then maybe they'd even put it in theaters! You can show the world the importance of gay rights and stopping human trafficking! It could be a call to action! Come on, please?"

There wasn't a way to refuse the woman when she begged like that. Tilting his head to the side, Matt conceded, "…A-All right. I guess it can't hurt when the case is already blown all over the country."

"That's the spirit!" Eliz shouted, an alarm on her watch going off. "Huh? Ah, shit, I'll have to do your interviews tomorrow, okay?" She took her film camera back from Gil and gripped his arm. "Come on, Gil, let's go."

"Wait, where are you guys going?" Al asked, standing up from the park bench.

"Oh, Toris and Feliks are going on a date soon, so I'm gonna get some footage of them."

Smirking, Gilbert remarked, "You're kidding, right?"

"I already got footage of Matt and Al, Rod and Vash, and ol' Artie and Francis today, so they're the only ones left. Come on, let's go!"

"Guys, why am I dating this chick?" the albino cracked, allowing himself to be dragged away by his determined girlfriend.

"Because I'm _awesome_," Elizaveta countered, pulling Gil along.

"Come on," Al persuaded his lover, wrapping an arm around Matt's waist, "you've got a few days until the sentencing hearing, and then we go back to New Jersey. Let's have fun while we can. …Meaning we spy on our friends."

Nodding, Matthew leaned against his boyfriend, finding comfort in the warmth of his body heat in the crisp autumn air. They followed the others out of Central Park as leaves fluttered down from the treetops, staining the path with their fiery colors.

**. . .**

Everyone rose to honor the judge as he entered the courtroom, eminent as ever as he took his seat at the bench. Matthew watched nervously as the sentencing hearing officially began, the prosecution standing to review their case. It was difficult to focus on the words spilling from the prosecutors' lips as the Canadian's eyes flitted throughout the courtroom.

Before the judge were the defendants, none of their conditions alike. Natalia had a poker face, showing no emotion at all even though besides the trafficking charges, she had also been convicted of murdering a police officer. Next to her was Eduard, who was shaking slightly. Looking to Ismael, Matt noticed that the Cuban had bags under his eyes, as if he hadn't slept at all the night before. Ivan was smiling as usual, taking delight in the proceedings despite his guilty verdict just days ago.

As if he felt the stare in his direction, Ivan glanced over his shoulder straight to where Matthew was sitting. His smile widened and his artic eyes lowered, making the trembling Canadian's blood run cold. Satisfied with the frightened response, Ivan returned his attention to the front of the courtroom, that grin never leaving his face.

_That's why he's not bothered at all_, Matthew thought, shivers still running up and down his spine. _He still has control over me; over all of us. _

Scanning the rest of his row, he saw that all of them had been affected by the Russian's gaze, and he gripped Toris's hand as a measure of support. Toris noticed and squeezed back, stressed out of his wits for what was to come. There wasn't a single person in that row who would be satisfied with anything that would permit Ivan to ever be released from prison.

Somewhere behind them was Alfred and his father, along with their friends, but their presence was practically nothing in the masses of people observing the hearing. His violet eyes downcast, Matthew wished for Al to be right beside him, as he had been for the past three years, to hold him and promise everything would be all right. But this hearing was something the Canadian would have to go through with only Toris and the other victims by his side.

One by one, the prosecutors called the eight plaintiffs up to testify again about the horrors they had experienced. It was an effective way to appeal to the judge and convince him to condemn the defendants accordingly to the damage they had done. Matthew watched as they left the row to speak before the court, first Raivis, then Yao, all until it was Toris's turn. The Lithuanian looked to him with fear before making his way to the front of the court.

Toris held his paper in his shaking hand, opening his mouth to begin his speech. "The way all of you have tr-treated me in the six years I spent s-selling my body under your command is despicable. So many people…i-including some of you, have u-used me as nothing but a tool for sex and profit. Y-You forced me back in with threats after I escaped w-with Matt."

Here, the Lithuanian paused, clearly holding back tears and bouts of anger. "…This time, I g-got off clean, but _you_, Ivan, you hurt Matt worse than you hurt me before. For all of the torture you've put all of us through, there is no way I can forgive any of you, and I hope you all rot in prison."

At this, Matthew looked to the Russian, whose wicked grin hadn't left his face for even a moment during Toris's testimony. A raging fire burned inside of him as he realized Ivan wasn't at all affected by their words. To him, it was as if his pets were putting on a little show for him, entertaining him with their upset reactions, just as he wanted. What did it matter that he had been convicted? Even after the three years in which most of them had become grown adults, Ivan still had control over his pets like a puppeteer over his marionettes, manipulating their strings to his cruel will.

In his frustration, the Canadian crumpled up his own written testimony and shoved it in his pocket, knowing it would be of little use. Hell, it might only satisfy Ivan's sadistic needs even further. The only thing to do was to push his fear aside and set that bastard straight; show him that he wasn't under his control anymore.

_Easier said then done_, Matt thought as Toris took a seat beside him, the prosecutor calling his name next. His calves quaked as he stood up from his seat and walked to the front of the courtroom, his heart pounding viciously on the caverns of his chest, screaming at him to just turn around and run away.

But he couldn't; he had to face Ivan head on.

"I-Ivan," Matthew began, his lips unsteady in his trembling, "while all of you are responsible, y-you are the worst, and deserve the worst sentence the court can give you. You have wounded this me like nothing else in this world could.

"You raped me the day we met, the day my…f-father sold me to you to pay for his drinking and gambling habits, and forced me into prostitution. I can't even give an estimate of how many men have used this skin for their own filthy pleasure. When I escaped with Toris, you found us and brought us back to your house…wh-where you raped me in the most sadistic way I know. This skin I wear has been abused, exploited, violated, sullied, and tortured for three years, all by you and your means."

Ivan sat there with a large grin, clearly delighted with the testimony flowing from his former pet's mouth. Everything Matt had said only paraded the Russian's work around the courtroom, assuring him that he was still in control.

"But this is _my_ skin," Matthew declared, his violet eyes blazing like those of a revolutionary. "This is _my_ skin, _my _body, and _my_ soul. They will never be yours, no matter how much you bruise and scar them, whether physically or mentally. I am not your _pet_; I am not your _whore_. I am not under your control, and I…I won't be afraid of you anymore. This is _my_ skin, and you will never own me. That goes for all of us."

The cruel smile Ivan had been proudly wearing was wiped clean off his mug, replaced with a look one could only describe as unamused. Seeing so, Matthew looked to the judge and proclaimed, "And thus, I implore you, Your Honor, to give them the judgment they rightfully deserve for their crimes."

With that, the Canadian returned to his seat, his heart pounding inside his chest after confronting Ivan like that. It was a feeling like no other, fueled by fear, anger…and a sense of freedom.

After Matthew's testimony, the prosecution made their final points and rested. It was time for the defense to make their case.

The defense tried to appeal to the judge with sob stories, asserting that for Ismael and Eduard, the trafficking ring was their only way of putting food on the table. As for Ivan and Natalia, the defense alleged they had been abused by their father.

_There were plenty of people that were abused by their father and didn't end up exploiting others for their own profit_, Matthew thought, gripping Toris's hand tighter. _Some of them end up as the ones exploited thanks to that father_.

When the judge didn't believe that, the attorneys asserted that the Braginskis were mentally insane, claiming Ivan believed he was part of the Russian mob and Natalia had murdered the police officer because Satan told her to.

The prosecution immediately objected to that, asserting that all of the defendants had been subjected to psychological testing, and that everyone had been cleared of mental insanity. Although Ivan had shown some signs of antisocial personality disorder, a sociopath still knows right from wrong, and all of the defendants were fully aware of their actions.

As for the allegation that Ivan believed he was a member of the Russian mob, the prosecutors fought that he was only pretending, using his "friends in higher places" approach as a form of intimidation and coercion. "Anyone can look up a phone number in the yellow pages if he knows the surname of the resident," one of them argued, explaining how Ivan could have called the Kirkland residence to force Matthew to leave with him without the help of the mafia.

It was obvious the defense was grasping at straws, and it did all of the court a favor by resting. Matthew's heart pounded in anticipation, his body breaking out in a cold sweat as the judge contemplated all that had come before him. Judgment time had come.

His hands clammy as he wrung them together, Matt waited anxiously for the Russian's sentence. He paid no attention to Natalia's life imprisonment for murdering that police officer, or the lesser but still long prison terms for Eduard and Ismael in the case of human trafficking. All he cared about was how long Ivan would be incarcerated and whether or not he would ever be released.

Matthew's breath caught in his throat as the judge opened his mouth, his heart almost stopping.

"For the crime in eight counts of human trafficking for the purpose of sexual exploitation," the judge announced, "Ivan Braginski…life in prison without the possibility of parole."

Matthew's heart nearly burst from his chest as he slumped down in his chair, throwing his head back in relief. The rest of Ivan's sentence, the counts of forced prostitution, assault, rape, and all else passed right by him, for he was finally free from the Russian's sadistic clutch.

In his victory, the Canadian glanced toward Ivan, who sat calmly in his seat, his mouth but a firm line as his sentence was read. For once, Ivan was the one numbed and controlled, the prison gate that had been hanging precariously over his head officially shut, never to be released.

As the hearing officially came to an end, Matthew and Toris hugged each other tightly. It was as if a heavy weight had been lifted from their chests, liberated tears streaming down their cheeks.

Closure was beautiful.

**. . .**

The aromas of apples and cherry blossoms flitted throughout the room as Alfred and Matthew bathed in the tranquil water, the Canadian's back pressed up against his lover's chest in the midst of soft bubbles. Al lathered his boyfriend's hair with the shampoo, leaning in to savor the soothing scents lingering on the blonde strands.

A genuine smile remained on Matthew's face, one that likely wouldn't leave for days in light of the liberation from his past. Alfred grinned, relieved to see his lover in such high spirits.

"How does it feel?" Al asked, his fingers roaming through the cleansing waves of his boyfriend's hair. "To be free from him, I mean."

Matthew's violet eyes lit up, fully alive. "It feels…amazing. Six years…I've spent six years living in fear of him, but now…I feel like I've been recalled to life again…for the last time."

"So, what do you want to do first in your new life?"

"I want to apply for permanent residence in the States before my T-visa expires."

"Right, that adjustment of status thing?"

"Yeah, it's been three years, so I'm eligible now."

"Well, you got another year until it gives out, but we can try to get the papers tomorrow if you want. That'll give them plenty of time to grant it."

"I'd like that."

"…You know, I thought your testimony was really powerful," Alfred commented, dousing his boyfriend's head with a bucket of water to wash away the suds.

Drenched locks framing his face, the Canadian informed him, "Well…I wasn't entirely truthful in that."

"Oh, really?"

Smiling with passionate eyes, Matthew looked over his shoulder at his lover. "Yes, this is my skin…but it is all yours."

Alfred's eyes widened then drooped with desire as his hands tenderly tightened around his waist, stroking the chaste skin. Blue irises gazing with a craving, Alfred turned the Canadian around and trailed kisses up and down his lover's body. Matthew let out soft moans as short blonde hair grazed his skin, the lips leaving their rightful mark.

Matthew's skin…his beautiful skin…skin that had been tainted and treated so wrong for years by many…was all his to kiss, caress, and love.

And it was absolutely pure.

**. . .**

**(A/N: This is the first multi-chapter story I've finished since the sixth grade and I'm really proud of what I wrote, so I'm trying not to cry right now. Sorry, I'm really emotional. Thank you all for reading this, for the reviews, favorites, alerts, criticisms, just **_**everything**_**. See you guys next time!)**


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